


Progressing To Flight

by patster223



Series: Magic and Progress [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dragons, Established Relationship, Hermann is a Muggle, Humor, M/M, Magic, Magic and Progress series, Magical Road Trips, Magical Tattoos, Newt is a wizard, Post-movie media tour, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt was beginning to realize that there were certain intricacies to navigate when you're a wizard suddenly out of a job and experiencing an existential crisis. Luckily, these were things that could be solved by: traveling the world with his Muggle boyfriend, letting his tattoos finally roam where they pleased, eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, showing off his dragons, thinking about flight, and maybe even falling a bit more in love with one Hermann Gottlieb.</p><p>The sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1143661">Magic and Progress Do Not Speak As Loud As My Heart</a>, the AU in which Newt is a wizard and Hermann is a Muggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progressing To Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for leaving such kind feedback on Magic and Progress and for waiting so patiently for this next installment. This sequel leaves the series tentatively complete; however, I may write also write some one-shots for this 'verse as I feel like it. If you have an idea you'd like to see in this series, feel free to say so in a comment or at my [tumblr](http://patster223.tumblr.com/). Special thanks go to [irishsparkleparty](http://irishsparkleparty.tumblr.com/) for letting me ramble about this as I wrote it and to [meganbagels](http://meganbagels.tumblr.com/) for leaving such an insightful comment on the last fic that it made its way (almost verbatim) into this one. This is unbetaed, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know in the comments.

At the exact moment that Newt leaned into the bathroom mirror, wand in hand, he realized that he hadn’t attempted to perform this particular band of magic since he was fifteen. Perhaps this should have sent a frisson of trepidation through him, but hell -– it was just like riding a broomstick, right? Never mind the fact that Newt had never been especially talented when it came to riding broomsticks…

Okay, maybe there was a _little_ bit of trepidation. He bit his lip. Well, at least if anything went wrong, Hermann would probably be able to hear it from the next room. Squeezing his eyes shut, Newt jabbed his wand at his head. He held his breath for a long moment, but since he was still standing, Newt chanced opening an eye, and was pleased to find his countenance safe and unchanged in the mirror. Well, mostly unchanged.

He grinned as he ran a hand through his newly green hair. _I love magic_ , he thought, just as pleased as he’d been when he was fifteen and had discovered that hair dye wasn’t necessary in the wizarding world. Newt waved his wand again and again, marveling as his hair changed from green to indigo to orange to lavender. Damn it, how was he supposed to _choose?_

It took Newt an embarrassingly long moment to remember that, as a wizard perfectly capable of inventing his own spells, choosing wasn’t necessarily an issue. _Still getting back into the swing of things_ , he mused as he tapped his head with his wand, pleased when his hair flashed from one color to another on its own. _Much_ better. Though he could only keep it if he got a wizarding job, and he hadn’t manage to hold one of _those_ in seventeen years, so God knows if Newt could-

Wait. _Seventeen_ years?

“Hermann, help!” Newt yelled. “I’m old!”

The former sentence prompted the quick tap of a cane as Hermann immediately got to his feet, but the latter soon halted the urgency of his steps. Newt heard a familiar, exasperated huff of breath. This was followed by Hermann entering the bathroom -– glasses on, Newt must have interrupted him reading -- and leveling Newt with an unimpressed stare. Upon seeing his hair, he gave Newt a look that was even _more_ unimpressed; albeit, slightly more fascinated.

“I don’t know what’s less surprising,” Hermann said. “That you’ve managed to have a midlife crisis at age _thirty-six_ , or that you’re using your _magical powers_ to _…_ ” Hermann waved his hand vaguely at Newt’s head. “…dye your _hair_ of all things.”

“It’s not a midlife crisis,” Newt muttered. Feeling a little vengeful, he pointed his wand at the other man and smirked as Hermann's hair turned powder blue.

Hermann glanced at himself in the mirror, mouth slipping open in horror before setting itself into a thin, pale line. “ _Newton_ _!”_

Newt probably could have taken that as a cue to change Hermann’s hair back, but damn if the shock of blue wasn’t doing it for him. Maybe he should take a picture for…scientific analysis later. Yes, that.

Hermann quite obviously saw Newt’s appreciative glance, for he growled, “I don’t care if you like it, I’m not leaving this room with _blue_ hair! Change it at once!”

“Yeah, or what?”

Hermann crossed his arms, looking down his glasses at him. “Or I’ll take your tattoos,” he said finally.

“What?” Newt laughed, glancing down at his arms. Though he hadn’t charmed them into stillness today, his tattoos were mostly content to stay where they were at the moment, only moving slowly over his skin. “You may not have noticed this, Hermann, but since they’re _my_ tattoos and it’s _my_ magic, only I can move them. So you _can’t_ ‘take’ them.”

Hermann raised an eyebrow. He took a step closer to Newt so that they were standing with only scant inches between them, and placed a hand upon Newt’s arm. Much to Newt’s despair, Yamarashi started to creep up Hermann’s hand, happily settling so that it rested across Newt’s fingers and Hermann’s wrist.

“I don’t need to be able to move them,” Hermann said smugly, “as they seem perfectly content to move _for_ me.”

“I could stop them if I felt like it,” Newt muttered petulantly, cursing his subconscious for being so excruciatingly, inconveniently _fond_ of Hermann. His irritation was mild at best, however, as Hermann’s hand touching him only prompted the adoration that always rested in his chest to expand like a balloon. Yamarashi roared silently with glee before rushing the rest of the way onto Hermann’s arm, and Newt knew he’d lost this particular argument. “Fine,” Newt sighed, changing Hermann’s hair back with a tap of his wand.

“Thank you,” Hermann murmured, placing his hands on Newt’s lower back. “Now, why don’t you tell me about this midlife crisis of yours, mmm?” he said, kissing Newt’s hair, which had stopped changing color and settled on being a very bright pink.

Newt blushed a color to match it when he noticed his hair in the mirror. “Not a midlife crisis,” he said again. He rested his head against Hermann’s chest. “My hair just looks kickass like this, okay?”

Hermann rolled his eyes, but ran a hand through the pink strands. He eyed Newt’s hair curiously as it deepened in shade to fuchsia. “If you intend to keep this, I’m afraid I have to suggest finding one color and sticking with it. While I certainly don’t mind your hair changing partway through a conversation, others who are less privy to magical goings-on will not feel the same way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to try it, seeing as how I finally have _someone_ to admire it other than, you know, me.” Hermann continued stroking his hair and Newt sighed in contentment. “Did you know it’s been over eighteen years since I last dyed my hair?” he said.

“Yes, this sounds in no way like a midlife crisis,” Hermann said dryly.

Newt couldn’t help but laugh, but he vengefully poked Hermann in the side for the comment. “You’re such an asshole. Just…come on, man, you don’t feel weird thinking about how much time has passed? We’ve been studying the Kaiju for _ten_ years and now they’re just gone? What do we even _do_ now?”

Hermann stopped petting his hair, instead choosing to rest his chin atop Newt’s head as he thought. “Well,” he said. “For the next week we’ll have our tedious media tour -– which you will no doubt enjoy every moment of, you attention-seeking fool. After that…” He moved his head so that his eyes met Newt’s. “Whatever we want, I suppose,” he said, his hands cradling Newt’s face. “What do _you_ want, Newton?”

He wanted _this_. The future…well, Newt had never been one to plan much for the future. He’d never as much had a step-by-step plan as he'd had a one-step plan that had simply been labeled as “become a rockstar.” But _this_ , Hermann’s hands scrapping gently against his stubble, the other man's attention focused carefully upon Newt -- this, he knew without a doubt that he wanted. “I want to show you a magic trick or two,” he finally murmured, leaning up to kiss Hermann.

Hermann scoffed at the innuendo, but the sound soon turned into a hum of contentment as Newt’s tongue met his. Newt was pretty sure that the small noises Hermann was making were doing _something_ crazy to the color of Newt's hair, but he was far too busy making out with Hermann to check.

After only a minute of kissing, however, Hermann reluctantly pulled away. “Packing,” he reminded Newt. “With magical haste, preferably.”

“That wasn’t exactly the kind of magic trick I had in mind…”

“Our flight leaves tomorrow and your floor is still _covered _in rubbish. Packing, then sex,” Hermann said sternly.__

Newt cursed the other man’s self-control, not to mention his single-minded dedication to cleanliness. Newt didn’t see a way out of it, however, and could only follow Hermann into the bedroom with a sigh.

He looked around the room with a hint of despair. The mess was chaotic at best: Newt’s clothes were tossed in every direction, his knickknacks cluttered the floor, and over the years his desk had become less of a work surface and more of a place to store papers. It was a wonder Hermann had ever agreed to step foot in the place.

The man in question perched himself on a chair and sent Newt an expectant glance. He seemed curious as to how Newt would go about this, and that more than the mess itself forced Newt to roll up his sleeves and give a rather grandiose flick of his wand. Unfortunately, the motion only caused his books to shuffle into their boxes halfheartedly at best; meanwhile, the mess of trinkets on his floor only hovered hesitantly, as if unsure of what to do with themselves, before falling back to the ground.

“You have _magic_ ,” Hermann said in wonder. “I understand that packing can be arduous when one must do it manually, but shouldn’t a spell make things easier?”

“I’m just not sure how I want things organized yet,” Newt said defensively.

“Hmm,” Hermann said, unconvinced. “Perhaps you shall simply have to make do with a hoover like the rest of us.”

“Vacuums,” Newt muttered darkly. “No _thanks_. And don’t even get all judgmental over there just because you’re packed! You _know_ I have a lot more stuff than you! I don’t just have Muggle crap lying around, dude; I have Muggle _and_ wizard crap.”

“I can see that.” Hermann was clearly trying to affect a tone of disdain, but Newt could see the curiosity in the other man’s eyes as he poked at the Sneakoscope on Newt's desk (which had thus far only served to alert Newt to his _own_ sneakiness).

Newt grinned as Hermann then leaned down to pick up one of the many photographs littering the floor. He eagerly awaited Hermann's reaction; even though he'd had time to adjust to Hermann knowing his secret, Newt still felt the same buzz of excitement every time some new magical thing caught Hermann’s eye, every time the other man asked for an explanation or demonstration.

If only Newt had an older camera –- unfortunately, magic’s aversion to technology also extended to digital cameras -– so that he could capture Hermann’s dynamic expression in a moving photograph. Then he thought, _wait, smart phones_ , but recalled that his was buried underneath the mess of papers on the desk.

Newt settled for simply watching Hermann as he raised an eyebrow at the moving people in the photograph. One of the figures had dashed out of frame at Hermann’s observation, but that the others had already resumed their silent chatter.

“In the wizarding world, our pictures _move_ ,” Newt said brightly, already gearing himself up for a lesson on magical photography.

“Mmhm,” Hermann said absently, and Newt belatedly realized that of course Hermann -– the man who operated _holo_ -projectors on a daily basis -– wouldn’t be impressed by something as simple as a moving image.

Newt deflated slightly. “Oh. Well, I guess it’s not that-”

“What are they doing?” Hermann interrupted.

“Huh?”

“They’re on broomsticks in this photo,” Hermann clarified. “Is that something you really do? Do you _actually_ fly around on _broomsticks?”_

“Uh, yeah? I mean, I personally don’t -– or I haven’t in a long time anyway -– but yeah, a lot of wizards do that. Beats riding a bike.” Newt peered closely at the picture and grinned. “There’s even a sport around it! This is a picture of my favorite Quidditch team, the Baltimore Banshees.”

“Quidditch?” Hermann said, incredulous. “You mean to say that there’s magical _sport_?”

“Yep! I’m not a half-bad Seeker myself,” Newt said, swelling with pride though he knew that a truthful description of his Quidditch skills wouldn’t _quite_ stretch to ‘half bad.’

Hermann seemed to suspect this, but thankfully elected to raise an eyebrow rather than question him. Hermann turned his gaze back to the photograph, his brow furrowed in concentration and...wistfulness, maybe? Newt supposed that Hermann had always wanted to be a pilot –- maybe Newt should take him on a broomstick ride sometime.

Newt examined the people in the photograph and felt a similar tug of longing. Even though he was crap on a broomstick, he still missed having the _option_ to be on one. The PPDC’s helicopters were nice, but being on a plane just wasn’t the same as riding through the air under your own power.

He shook his head. There would be plenty of time to do that later. Once he got through this media tour and, well, found out what exactly he wanted to do (other than Hermann) after ten years of studying the Kaiju, he could spare some time to relearn riding a broomstick.

When Newt looked up, Hermann was watching him instead of the photograph. Any traces of wistfulness that may have been on Hermann's face had been replaced by a fondness that still floored Newt every time he witnessed it.

“If you pack quickly,” Hermann murmured, “we should have some spare time before dinner for whatever ‘magic tricks’ you'd intended to show me.”

Newt swallowed heavily and nodded, his eyes wide. He quickly jabbed his wand towards the center of the room. His eyes never left Hermann's as his clothes violently shoved themselves into his suitcase, as the mess on his desk organized itself in a whirlwind of paper, and as the things on his floor shoved themselves under his bed. “Good?” he asked, breathless.

Hermann kissed him in lieu of answering, and very soon the state of Newt’s room was the last thing on either of their minds.

 

Hong Kong to Tokyo would be the shortest of the flights they would have to endure on this media tour, and yet only an hour after takeoff, Newt was _already_ exhausted with air travel. Newt often vacillated over whether he favored Muggle or wizarding technology, but on the subject of planes he was quite firm: they were _agonizingly_ boring and needlessly long.

It didn’t help that Hermann wasn’t much company on flights. The man’s eyes had been glued to the skyline during takeoff, and even after they’d ascended he spent most of his time either immersed in his lecture notes or staring out the window.

What was even there to stare at up here? From the aisle seat -– because fuck yeah, rockstars _deserve_ the aisle seat –- Newt could see nothing but a wall of cloud. He crawled over Hermann –- ignoring the muffled “Newton!” that his actions elicited –- so that he could see what was so entrancing out there, but all he could spot was a flock of birds. Not even _magical_ birds at that.

Newt pressed his face up against the window, trying to see what Hermann saw. After a moment of watching clouds go by, he gave up and asked, “Is this a space thing?”

Hermann gave an incredibly reluctant and patient sigh from just above him. “Newton, please get off of my lap.”

Newt realized that the upper half of his body was sprawled on top of the uncomfortable mathematician, and quickly retreated to his own seat. “That’s not what you said last night,” he murmured to Hermann, relishing the flush that spread across the other man’s face.

“Behave,” Hermann chided. “We still have several hours before we reach Tokyo and I would rather like to be given a reason to continue to spend those hours next to my partner.”

“What, and my charming personality isn’t enough?” At Hermann’s unimpressed look, Newt sighed and added, “Alright, I’ll ‘behave.’ It’s not like the Mile High Club exactly has a local listing on this small a plane anyway.”

“Charming,” Hermann said, but his face was still red and he'd had to clear his throat several times before speaking, so Newt counted it as a win. Newt was so caught up in smugly congratulating himself that before he could continue his line of questioning, Hermann had already turned back to the window.

Newt huffed. “No, but dude, is it a space thing?” he said.

“Is what a space thing?” Hermann said, not looking away from the window.

“Staring out the window like it’s an equation you need to solve." Newt leaned closer and saw in Hermann's face the remnants of a sort of pensive, daydreaming look that usually only graced his countenance when he was thinking of mathematics.

Newt couldn’t help but be reminded of the Quidditch photo. “Ohh,” he realized. “So it’s a pilot thing.”

“It’s an ‘I enjoy silence and observing the scenery’ thing,” Hermann said irritably.

“Come on, you’re totally thinking about what it would be like to fly this plane,” Newt said, grinning as a plan formulated in his mind. He’d already given Hermann a space gift anyway, what with the constellations he’d charmed onto their ceiling soon after they’d first slept together. Newt _loved_ having magic: now he could totally give Hermann his piloting dream too. “I know! I’ll take you flying sometime! As soon as we get some free time on this tour, I’ll let you take a ride on my broomstick.”

From the row across from them, Newt heard a deep coughing. It was at that moment that he recalled that, given the close quarters of the plane, their conversation was not exactly a _private_ one. He looked over his shoulder to find that Raleigh Becket was choking on his Coke in the wake of Newt’s unfortunately euphemistic last sentence.

Hermann stood up, his posture stiff from both the effort of preserving his dignity and the harsh backs of the plane seat. Stepping awkwardly over Newt, Hermann said coolly, “Why don’t I get you some water, Ranger Becket? And then perhaps I’ll spend the remainder of the plane ride with Mr. Choi, hmm, Newton?”

Newt could only look on helplessly as Hermann stormed off to the back of the plane. “You know I didn’t mean it like that!” he called after Hermann, but heard only a scoff in return.

“Don’t worry, Newt,” Mako said, patting Raleigh’s back as he finally caught his breath. She smiled at him in reassurance. “I’m sure Dr. Gottlieb will not be mad for long.”

 _But I didn’t even mean_ that _kind of broomstick,_ Newt wanted to say, but he realized the futility in even _attempting_ an explanation. “Yeah,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair, wondering if Hermann truly intended to avoid him until they reached Tokyo.

 

Not only did Hermann ignore him for the rest of the flight, but he hardly talked to Newt all throughout dinner as well. The cold shoulder treatment only ended when they got back to their hotel room, and even then it only ended because Hermann eventually ended up pushing Newt onto his belly and fucking him. Which, Newt could admit, was not the worst way in the world to end an argument.

“Sometimes I think you get a peculiar joy out of embarrassing me in front of our colleagues, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann panted. He tightened his hold on Newt’s hips and continued to thrust into him with enough force to send figurative sparks across Newt’s skin. Or maybe even literal sparks? Newt’s magic sang just beneath his skin, humming madly in response to Hermann’s touch, so Newt wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. Shit, were there literal sparks on his skin right now?

“I’m not electrocuting you, am I?” Newt slurred into the sheets, delirious with pleasure and not really sure whether he cared to investigate the maybe literal sparks surging through him.

Hermann’s movements paused. Newt could feel Hermann's small huff of laughter as the other man leaned closer to kiss his spine. “You were ridiculous even _before_ I knew about your magic,” he said. “Now you’re simply _absurd_. What am I going to do with you?”

Newt hummed happily into the sheets as Hermann kissed his back again. His limbs shook from the sweetness of the gesture and from the arousal that filled him near to bursting. "Fuck me, probably," he said.

Hermann sighed. “This is supposed to be punishment for your behavior earlier today,” he complained. “What’s the point if you _like_ being fucked into the mattress?”

And, yeah, Newt could see the dilemma, for at the moment he was _immensely_ enjoying being fucked into the mattress. But hey, when life gives you a dick in the ass, right? Or lemons, he supposed, but right now he infinitely preferred the former. “We get good sex,” Newt pointed out. “That’s a pretty compelling argument for this to continue.”

Newt could practically hear Hermann rolling his eyes, but the other man caressed his back nonetheless, his hands stroking his skin from shoulder blade to ass. Newt squirmed against the touch, trying to get Hermann to move again. He liked back rubs, but back rubs while Hermann was inside him seemed like a misallocation of resources.

“Your tattoos are going mad right now,” Hermann said. “Yamarashi _and_ Onibaba have both joined me. They’re playing on my chest.”

“Really?” Yamarashi and Onibaba tended to stay on opposite sides of Newt’s body, so that they were both together on Hermann’s body was an intoxicating thought. Newt whipped his head around to try to see, but Hermann gently pushed him back.

“Maybe I _should_ take your tattoos,” Hermann mused, thrusting back into him at an angle that sent Newt gasping, and which certainly had the potential to send actual sparks across his skin if they didn’t exist already.

Hermann’s breath hitched as pushed in and out of Newt at a relentless pace, but he continued: “You would be, _ah_ , completely bare. Perhaps it would be on a day when we both have to lecture. We’d both have to wear long sleeves to cover them up, of course. No one could know but us. They would imagine tattoos under your sleeves where there are none, and think my skin to be virginal of ink when, in actuality, I would have your complete collection under my clothes.”

Newt came with a shout, panting hard into the bed as he thrust his hips into the sheets in time with Hermann’s own movements. He could feel it when Hermann came inside him only a moment later, the jolt of sensation joining the countless other eddies of pleasure swirling inside him.

He flopped onto his back with a happy sigh as Hermann pulled out of him. While Hermann paused to catch his breath, Newt ran a hand along the bare skin of his own arms. Yamarashi and Onibaba were currently safe and happy as they played on Hermann's skin, possessively circling the other man's chest in a riot of color.

“Come ‘ere,” Newt murmured to them, placing his hands on Hermann’s hips. He smiled as the swirls of ink filtered back onto his own skin. The tattoos moved between them as if there were no difference between their bodies, a fact that never ceased to take Newt’s breath away. Perhaps it had the same effect on Hermann as well, for when Newt met his eyes they were filled with nothing less than absolute wonder.

“I love your tattoos,” Hermann said, sinking down to rest atop Newt with a sleepy sigh.

Newt placed his hands along Hermann’s lower back and absently stroked the skin there. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because I remember you calling them ‘unprofessional and grotesque, dear God man’ two years ago.”

Hermann rolled his eyes at Newt’s impression of him, but pressed a kiss to Newt's collarbone, exciting the tattoos there into movement. “You can hardly fault me for that, I didn’t have all the data then. That was before I knew they loved me back.”

Newt pressed his face into Hermann’s hair, grinning into the soft, short strands. “They love you because _I_ love you, you know.”

“I do,” Hermann said. Newt could feel Hermann’s shy smile against his skin. “Much in the same way that I love them because I love you.”

Newt sighed happily and the ink on his body shifted in contentment. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to hearing those words. “So if you love me,” he said, “does that mean you forgive me for accidentally implying to our friends that you were going to ride my dick?”

Hermann groaned into Newt’s chest. “So this is what true love is,” he said wryly. “I’d always wondered. Yes, of course I forgive you. Just be more _careful_ , Newton. I know you’ve managed on your own until now, but your skills at secret-keeping nonetheless leave something to be desired.”

Newt opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered the exploding-cauldron incident only a few years prior and, well, he didn’t have much ground to stand on. He nodded reluctantly.

“You know I don’t mean to lecture,” Hermann continued, ignoring Newt’s snort of disbelief. “But you know you can’t go yelling about riding broomsticks around non-magical people.”

“Yeah, just like I can’t magically dye my hair,” Newt muttered, uncomfortably aware of how petulant he sounded. But wasn’t he supposed to be able to play with his magic again, now that the world had been saved and that he’d _finally_ told Hermann the truth about himself? Was it selfish to feel entitled to that? “What’s the point of _having_ magic if you can’t use it for fun?” he said finally.

“I think magically packing our things is a great deal of fun,” Hermann said mildly. He shifted off of Newt and stretched his limbs before leaning against the headboard.

Newt wrapped his arms around Hermann’s waist and was gratified when Hermann began to stroke the skin between his shoulder blades.

“I think,” Hermann said, “that perhaps we cut our conversation in the bathroom a bit short yesterday."

Newt shrugged. “There's not that much more to tell really. I just miss magic, you know?”

“You do know that…” Hermann paused, and even though Newt itched to interrupt him, he knew that he would only be disrupting the process of Hermann carefully constructing sentences out of his thoughts. Finally, he said, “You do know that I meant what I said yesterday: you can do _whatever_ you want now, Newton. The world doesn’t need you to fight the Kaiju anymore; you and I and everyone else in the PPDC are free to pursue whatever interests we please. For you, this could mean, I don’t know, going back to being a…” Hermann waved his hand vaguely, as he so often did when he was stumbling over a piece of Newt’s world that he’d yet to fully mull over. “…dragon wrangler or whatever you call it.”

A burst of laughter escaped Newt and he grinned into Hermann’s side. “Magizoologist,” he corrected.

Hermann rolled his eyes. “You could be making _up_ all of these ridiculous words for all I know. I have no doubt that at least some of them _are_ made up.”

That may or may not have been true, as dating Hermann didn’t really temper Newt’s passion for messing with the guy. He didn’t really feel too bad about it, especially considering that any words Newt made up were always betrayed as false by his giggling before Hermann could even begin to fall for them.

Newt only gave an affronted gasp though, smiling at Hermann’s responding scoff. Newt hugged him closer and pressed a gentle kiss to Hermann's ribs as he thought. To tell the truth, Newt wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted. It’d been a long time since he’d had a choice of whether he wanted to work in the wizarding world or the Muggle one; faced with that absolute freedom now, Newt felt more than a bit lost. “I’m not sure what to do,” he said. "Fuck, Hermann, what do I even _do_ after I’m officially done with the PPDC?”

“You don’t _have_ to know now,” Hermann reassured him. “For God’s sake, _I’m_ not even sure what I should do once this blasted tour is over. Nobody is.”

“I guess,” Newt said.

After a few minutes of running his hand through Newt’s hair, Hermann said, “I would like to propose a temporary solution of sorts.”

“Mmhm?”

“I know you’re wondering about the future, Newton,” Hermann said, “but I see no reason why those decisions cannot wait until after the tour. A week-long break from our responsibilities is hardly consequential given all we’ve accomplished in the past ten years. Besides,” he said, “I must admit that I am still endlessly curious about the magical world. And since you miss that world, why don’t we take this trip as an opportunity for you to _show_ it to me?”

“Hermann, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Newt said. “Because what I’m hearing is ‘magical road trip,’ so _please_ tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

“What I’m _saying_ is that it shouldn’t be too difficult to squeeze in one magical stop per city we visit so-”

Newt squeezed Hermann tight, burying his face into the other man’s chest. “Magical road trip,” he affirmed, fully aware that his tattoos had already begun to migrate onto Hermann in the excitement.

“Yes, you idiot,” Hermann said, pressing a kiss against Newt’s hair. “Yes, a magical road trip, if that’s what you really want to call it.”

 

Their press junkets unfortunately left them with little time for _any_ of the tourism Newt had wanted to indulge in, magical or otherwise. One of the drawbacks of being a part of both the wizarding and the Muggle worlds was that there were at all times _two_ layers of space to navigate, _two_ parallel planes to be explored when most people barely had time for one.

“Slow down!” Hermann scowled as Newt scrambled across the street. Newt cringed, slowing his pace and linking their hands together in apology.

“I’m sorry, dude, but I want to get there before the shops close! This is the first stop on our magical road trip –- it has to be special, okay?”

Hermann squeezed his hand, a glowing smile framing his face -– he seemed just as excited as Newt, and that more than anything made Newt’s heart seize in anticipation.

“Then lead the way, dear wizard,” Hermann said, allowing Newt to drag him through the buzzing, glittering streets of Tokyo. Newt could admit that, despite his hurry, their walking was at least partly meandering in nature, as he only vaguely remembered the way to their destination. In his defense, he hadn’t had time to explore Tokyo in years, let alone the wizarding party of Tokyo. Still, he gave a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the Lawson he’d been searching for.

“We’re here!” he said.

“This is a convenience shop,” Hermann said uncertainly, as if asking Newt to confirm that what was in front of him _was_ , in fact, a convenience store and not the magical bazaar he’d been promised.

Obviously it was both, but since it was far easier to demonstrate magic than to explain it, Newt simply entered the Lawson and strode towards the freezers in the back. The one that Newt approached was completely empty of shelves and had a dusty sign taped to it labeling it as out of order. So naturally, Hermann expressed a bit of skepticism when Newt began to climb inside it.

“Er,” Hermann said, as Newt stuck a foot in the freezer. “Newton, what on earth are you doing?” He glanced back at the cashier, who was busy playing with her phone and had not seemed to notice that a customer was trying to stuff himself inside a fridge.

“She can’t see us,” Newt said dismissively. “This thing is a magical doorway, it’s charmed so that Muggles ignore it.” Only then did he notice that Hermann’s gaze was beginning to slide over the freezer and that the man looked a touch confused. Newt belatedly realized that Hermann was a Muggle too and grabbed his arm, grinning when the contact sharpened the other man’s focus.

“Well?” Newt said. “Are you getting in the freezer or not?”

“I can’t believe this is meant to be a grand romantic gesture on your part,” Hermann said, eyeing the freezer dubiously, but he compliantly joined Newt inside. It was tight, but Newt managed to wiggle his wand out of his jeans and tap the wall three times. With a jolt of movement that left Hermann clinging to Newt’s hand, the freezer _shifted_ in space, replacing their view of a convenience store with one of a bustling street corner.

“And that’s how you do it!” Newt said, pumping his arm and cursing as it slammed into the ceiling of the freezer. He expected Hermann to roll his eyes at him, but the other man was far too busy stepping out onto the sidewalk, his eyes wide as he took in the sights before him.

Tokyo’s wizarding market consisted of cramped, but tidy streets that were filled with every kind of shop imaginable -– and probably even some kinds that weren’t, if Newt was being honest. Menageries teamed with owls and snakes and cats, storefronts overflowed with magical sweets and cotton candy that wove itself, tailors sold robes spun with lapis and blood red silk. Despite the evening hour, steady streams of magical peoples of all kinds flowed through the streets. Some wizards gave Newt and Hermann’s Muggle clothing an amused glance, but most only quickly went about their business, levitating their bags with a tap of a wand or disapparating in the middle of the street.

Newt remembered the overwhelming excitement of possibility that had flowed through him upon seeing this sight for the first time. He disrupted Hermann’s rapturous gaze with a poke to his side. “Scientific freak out?” Newt checked. He sometimes got a bit carried away when introducing Hermann to new magic and he wondered if that was the case now.

Hermann shook his head faintly, but when he spoke, his voice was sure: “Newton, if I can brave the holiday rush at Harrods for my mother, I can surely handle a few magical shops.”

Newt looked at him with wonder -- he was sure that there was no one on Earth quite like Hermann. The man was so unbearably practical in the face of magic that Newt had to laugh. “Come on,” he said. “First order of business is to go to the candy store.”

Hermann acquiesced and followed Newt, even though his longing for the book store they passed was practically a tangible thing. But fuck, Newt hadn’t had chocolate frogs in three years and Hermann hadn’t _ever_ had them, so Newt considered it his duty to drag them both past the dusty tomes and into the candy shop.

Once they entered, Newt couldn’t stop himself from abandoning Hermann to ogle the different treats on display. Sugar Quills, Pepper Imps, Fizzing Whizzbees -– every candy he’d been forced to replace with Muggle sweets was suddenly right before him. His mouth watered as he reverently picked up a handful of Jelly Slugs.

“I’m in heaven,” he breathed to Hermann, who was also curiously exploring the rows of candies.

“This is a fascinating shop,” Hermann said, cautiously picking up a packet of Acid Pops. His eyes widened as he read the label. “Do they honestly sell sweets that can burn a _hole_ in your tongue? Is that even _legal_?”

“There’s a warning on the label," Newt said with a shrug.

“And people still _buy_ them?” Hermann wondered.

“They make good prank candies,” Newt explained. “And to be fair, they taste _really_ good once you get through the acid layer.”

Hermann cast his eyes to the sky as if pleading to a higher power, his expression akin to one of despair. “You know, I once thought that you had no sense of self-preservation -– now I have irrefutably _proof_ that you don’t. I can only wonder whether you come by it naturally or whether it was instilled in you by the same institutions that sold you sweets made of _acid_.”

“Probably both,” Newt said. He could admit that the wizarding world wasn’t exactly _amazing_ at teaching the whole “self-preservation” thing. Newt could admit this because only a moment later he picked up a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans off the shelf. “Wanna try one?” he said to Hermann.

“I’d rather not eat anything acid-flavored, thank you,” Hermann said dryly. “I think I’ll stick to non-magical sweets.”

“These aren’t acid though! Well,” Newt amended, “one of them might be. They’re not joking around when they say _every_ flavor. But the odds of getting an acid one is so small, man. Here, watch.”

He popped a bean in his mouth, smiling in relief as soon as he tasted it. “Gravy! I’ve never had one of those.” Figuring it was safe, Newt ate another, though he gagged as soon as it touched his tongue.

“An acid one?” Hermann asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Worse. I think it was sewage? Oh God, I feel sick. You _have_ to try one now, come on, Herms. Otherwise I ate that for nothing.”

“I’m not eating something that is potentially sewage-flavored!” Hermann exclaimed. The argument that followed was quiet by their standards, but still enough to eventually get them shooed out of the shop. Newt hadn’t managed to convince Hermann to try a Bertie Bott’s bean before then, but he _had_ managed to replenish his stock of candy, so he counted the excursion as a victory.

He'd also managed to convince Hermann to try a few of the safer pieces of candy, and was delighted to find that the other man favored Chocolate Frogs. Newt _tried_ not to point out the resemblance, he really did, but in the end he couldn’t resist –- though he received a whack with Hermann’s cane for his trouble. Hermann also displayed a fondness for Ginger Newts that _had_ to be at least partly sentimental. When Newt told him as much, Hermann only rolled his eyes and dragged Newt to the book shop.

Though at first Hermann seemed a bit lost in a bookstore with a section labeled “vampire nonfiction,” he immediately brightened once Newt steered him towards the astronomy and Arithmancy books. Newt watched with rapt attention as Hermann browsed through the shelves until he found a book about abstract mathematics.

Hermann flipped curiously through the pages and Newt couldn’t help but practically vibrate in excitement. “I told you your numbers were magic,” he said, nudging his shoulder against Hermann’s.

“Once, when you were drunk and I could not have understood the significance of what you meant,” Hermann said. “Though, I must say, I don’t find it any truer today than I did then. Even with this.” He gestured to the book in his hands and Newt’s jaw dropped.

“I can’t believe you’re even saying that right now. Don’t pretend like you don’t do the exact same stuff that’s in that book! You created the predictive model, you predicted the future _with numbers_ ; that’s what Arithmancy is!”

“I create predictions by studying _patterns_ , Newton, and by then applying rigorous statistical analysis to those patterns. _This_ ,” he said, “is just numerology.”

Newt was about to let out a scathing retort -- and probably get them kicked out of another shop -– when he noticed the way that Hermann’s finger carefully traced the pages of the book, its movements completely at odds with his words. Newt grinned. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Hermann shrugged. “If that’s what you wish to do, I can hardly stop you, now can I?”

Token protest meant that Hermann was _definitely_ more intrigued than he cared to admit. And yeah, Newt knew that no matter how hard he tried to persuade him, Hermann would probably never really buy into Arithmancy. But at the end of the day, Hermann’s face of pragmatism was hopelessly effaced by his pure romanticism when it came to numbers: for Hermann _did_ view mathematics as a form of magic, whether he labeled it as such or not. The fierce rush of energy and emotion that flowed through Hermann as he worked through his equations was just as strong and distinct as any wizard’s magic. It was nothing short of entrancing, and Newt couldn’t help but press a small, lingering kiss to Hermann’s lips before leading him to the front of the store.

“I promise we can look at more books some other time,” Newt said. “But there’s one more thing I have to show you.”

Newly purchased book in hand, they walked through the twilight, peering into brightly lit shops before reluctantly pulling away to move towards the final stop on their trip. The storefront they arrived at was painted a crisp white, so that there was nothing to distract the viewer from the sleek, shiny broomstick in the window.

“Nimbus 2020?” Newt muttered, examining the broom handle. God, it was worse than the _Now_ CDs these days. Nonetheless, he showed off the broom with a flourish. “Ta da! It’s _a broomstick_ , Hermann.”

Hermann pressed his hand against the glass as he peered through the window. “It’s like you’re _trying_ to conform to stereotypes,” he groaned. “Magic wands, _broomsticks_ …You even wear pointed hats!”

Newt look around and saw that the few wizards still wandering the streets were indeed wearing the offending hats. “One day, you are going to walk into our room only to find me wearing a wizard’s hat and nothing else, and you will regret making fun of them,” Newt said, relishing the deep red that bloomed across Hermann’s face. “But today is sadly not that day, so let’s buy ourselves a broomstick, my man!”

Hermann frowned. “You want to buy one? I thought you said you don’t ride broomsticks very often.”

“I don’t really. Two left feet screws me over on the dance floor and in the air. _But_ ,” he said, “you always wanted to be a pilot, right? I meant what I said on the plane, Herms. You have a boyfriend who just so happens to be a wizard: the impossible is now not only possible, but _advisable.”_ Newt grinned. “So what do you say; _now_ will you take a ride on my literal broomstick?”

Hermann let his hands fall away from the window. “No.”

“Sweet, so let’s just-” _Wait, what?_ “...You don’t want to?” Newt said. He winced at how crestfallen his words ended up sounding –- Newt had never been particularly gracious when it came to disappointment. Still, he tried to recover, nodding and turning away from the store. “Sure, that’s fine, we can just, um, get out of here then, yeah? I’m pretty tired anyway, so-”

Hermann placed a hand on Newt’s wrist to still him. “Newton…” His lips pursed in thought and he absently stroked his thumb over Newt’s palm. His words were slow to form, but when they came, they were beautiful and fully formed –- at that moment, Newt ached with how much he loved Hermann.

“I’m not ungrateful,” Hermann said finally. “And you were right on the plane when you labeled my daydreaming as a ‘pilot thing.’ But I never dreamed of being a pilot because of a desire to fly. Or rather, that was not the only factor.” He looked at the quickly darkening sky with a longing that was now undisguised. “It always seemed to me that the cockpit would be a beautifully structured place. Everything you need on the control panel before you, all it laid out…it’s always been a comforting image to me.”

“It would give you control,” Newt said, remembering flashes of a childhood that had been filled with anything but.

Hermann nodded. “And as much as I appreciate your offer, riding behind you on a broomstick while you direct our course does not appeal to me. _Especially_ because you seem doubtful as to your ability to even fly solo on the dratted thing,” he quipped.

“Oh what _ever_ ,” Newt said, allowing Hermann to pull him away from the window display. “You know, you’ve just deprived yourself of the experience of seeing yours truly’s ass on the back of a broomstick. Granted, it looks great anyway, but an aerial view really could have-”

Hermann interrupted him with a slow press of lips against lips. “Thank you for the offer, Newton,” he said sincerely, after he pulled away so that he was resting only an inch away from Newt. “And thank you for the rest of it as well. For showing me your world.” He gestured: to the dwindling number of wizards walking through the streets, to the quieting shops around them, and to the book that Newt held carefully in his hands.

 _I’m not just showing you it; I’m_ sharing _it with you,_ Newt thought. And maybe Hermann would wonder at the distinction, but it mattered to Newt. Because ever since his magic had known that it _could_ be shared with Hermann -– and even before then, as Newt remembered all too clearly the times when their arguments had set his magic alight with anger and longing –- it hardly distinguished between the two of them. His tattoos flowed freely between them, his hair changed color at Hermann’s kiss, his magic danced under his skin whenever Hermann was near. ‘Show’ was simply too passive a verb to describe that feeling. No, Newt’s magic was something to be _shared_ with Hermann; it always had been.

 

Though Hermann would deny having done so, he continually nudged Newt for hints about what waited for them in the London leg of their 'magical road trip.' He’d even done so on the plane ride from Tokyo, where they’d once again been seated across from Mako and Raleigh -– though, to be fair, Hermann was far more discreet than Newt was.

“I must admit that I’m curious as to what sort of magical happenstances had been occurring right beneath my feet while I taught there,” Hermann had murmured to him.

Newt had only grinned and whispered back, “Oh, all _sorts_ of stuff. For a start, there’s a decent chance you had a doxy’s nest in your apartment at _some_ point in time when you lived in London.” He’d gleaned this particular bit of knowledge from his English friends’ griping letters back when he still had time to keep up with his post.

Though, truth be told, Newt wasn’t quite sure _what_ to show Hermann. He hadn’t ever had much time to explore wizarding Great Britain; he’d been to Hogwarts, sure, but he could hardly apparate Hermann there. The idea only came to him when they were lying in bed, naked and sated, on the afternoon of their second full day in London.

“So, what are you going to show me?” Hermann said. He’d been emotionally and physically exhausted yesterday after Stacker Pentacost’s memorial –- they’d all been -– but seemed slightly cheered in the aftermath of the joint-lecture he and Newt had given only a few hours before. They’d managed to bicker on-stage, of course, but it hadn’t been a true argument. Rather, their squabbling had been in the same spirit as that of the fighting which occurred in the Kwoon: not a fight, but a dialogue. It'd been nothing short of exhilarating.

And, well, the vigorous sex afterward probably hadn’t hurt either. Hermann poked at Newt. “Well? Don’t tell me: we’re going to visit a menagerie of black cats somewhere, aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” Newt said, laying his head on Hermann’s chest. “Just give me two minutes to bask in the rockstar afterglow of that badass lecture, dude.”

“Or perhaps our _actual_ afterglow,” Hermann said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t know where you’re taking us, do you?”

“I’ll think of something,” Newt said. He watched absently as his dragon tattoo lazily moved down his neck and onto Hermann’s skin. The rest of his tattoos hummed in anticipation as a tentative plan began to form in Newt’s mind. “Hermann,” he said, shifting so that he could look the other man in the eyes. “I have something serious to ask you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Will you see my dragons?” Newt said gravely.

Hermann frowned. “Your dragons?”

“I know it’s not London,” Newt said. “But the German dragon sanctuary is only an apparation away. It’s where I got my start, Herms! I want to show it to you.” Newt’s hands trailed along Hermann’s sides as he wheedled him: “Pleeease?”

“Dragons,” Hermann muttered. “As if we hadn’t had enough trouble facing down the Kaiju, you insist upon visiting another deadly creature less than a month later. It’s as if you’re _trying_ to get us both killed.”

“Magizoologist,” Newt said with a grin. “It’s kind of my job. So, what do you say?”

Hermann sighed. He was probably attempting to sound long-suffering –- and he did, a little bit, because becoming romantically involved didn’t change their relationship _that_ much -- but Newt could hear the fondness in the noise. “How could I refuse?” he said. “If I’m to truly understand your world, I must see everything –- even, God help me, _dragons_.”

“Then let’s go,” Newt said, rolling over to find his wand and charming their clothes into existence as soon as he had it in his hand. He held Hermann’s arm and, as soon as the other man gave him a tight nod, he disapparated them both.

Newt only felt the usual twist of his stomach upon arriving in the field, but looking over, he could see that Hermann was quite pale and that his hand was trembling in Newt’s. He remembered that Hermann had only apparated once before, and that that had been while only barely conscious. “You okay?” he checked.

“Of course,” Hermann said shakily. “Teleporting across space is simply an experience I’ve yet to become used to.”

Newt wanted to laugh at Hermann’s matter-of-fact tone, but before he could, a great rumbling shook the earth and sent his teeth rattling. Though the sensation was wonderfully and achingly familiar to him, Hermann’s face paled even further as its source approached them.

Newt turned to find a great dragon towering over them, its scales a shiny black, its wings spread wide across the sky. “Holy shit! A Hungarian Horntail? There are so few of you left, how did you even get here?” he shouted at the beast, unsurprised when he only received a snarl in response.

Hermann, however, gave a swallow that was painfully audible, and tightened his grip on his cane. "Newton," he whispered.

“It’s okay, Hermann,” Newt said, turning to him and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know how to handle these guys.”

Hermann had been through Newt’s memories, had seen Newt raise some of these dragons, so he nodded, knowing it to be true. Only a moment later, though, any ease that had seeped into his expression evaporated as he gestured nervously at the dragon. “Newton, it’s doing something.”

Newt turned to find that the dragon’s maw was open and that tell-tale sparks were hissing in the back of its throat. He only just had time to throw his wand up and shout, “Protego!”

Fire smeared across the protective wall Newt had surrounded them with. The flames formed a beautiful collage of sickly oranges and blues as they licked the barrier -– though perhaps only Newt would describe the sight as beautiful. It was probably more so terrifying to Hermann, who was now clutching Newt’s hand in a death grip.

Suddenly the flames stopped and from behind his shield, Newt could see at least ten wizards wrangling the dragon away from them.

“Nice to see you, Newt!” one of them shouted. “Although I have to say, a warning would have been nice!”

“Zhang? What are you even doing here? Where’s Karl?” Newt called back.

“A bit busy dealing with a Horntail, thanks,” the man in question said, appearing from behind the dragon just long enough to give Newt a pointed look. “Is this really any way to treat your guest, Newt? Get him inside, for goodness’ sake, before he faints on us.”

Guilt flooded Newt as he looked back at Hermann, and –- yeah, he could see where Karl’s concern came from. Hermann had yet to tear his eyes away from the monstrous creature in front of him. What little color had returned to his cheeks since their arrival had vanished, leaving his skin looking drained and pasty as he stared at the dragon, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock.

Newt probably should have thought this through a bit more. Yeah, Hermann was a pragmatist when it came to accepting the impossible, but that didn’t mean that Newt could expect him to simply take it in stride when a mythical creature spat fire in his face. “Scientific freak out?” Newt asked.

Hermann nodded distantly. “More like a being-faced-with-my-own-mortality freak out, but yes. Rather.”

“Oh my God, I am _so_ sorry, Hermann. If it makes you feel any better,” Newt babbled as he gently steered Hermann towards the central house on the sanctuary, “those little guys aren’t even as big as a category 1.”

“It doesn’t,” Hermann growled, but he did relax slightly at Newt's words, as if comforted by at least having a frame of reference for the impossible creature he’d just seen –- even if that frame of reference happened to be just a different impossible creature.

Nonetheless, Hermann fairly collapsed into a chair once they reached the house. Newt waved his wand to start some water boiling for tea, but he lingered hesitantly in the kitchen, unsure whether Hermann even _wanted_ his company at this point.

Thankfully, Hermann answered the question for him, snapping, “Will you please stop worrying over me like a distressed mother hen? I was _startled_ , you bumbling man; I am not about to _break_.”

“No, of course not,” Newt said. He could feel himself getting worked up, could feel himself rambling, but even with this knowledge, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut: “I mean, you just met a dragon for the first time and it tried to set you on fire –- why would you feel a bit rattled after that? No reason whatsoever, am I right? So we can clearly just move on from this and-”

“Newton,” Hermann interrupted him tersely. “You do realize that you are not helping?”

“Sorry,” Newt said, putting his face in his hands. “Shit. Shit, Hermann, I really am sorry. I wasn’t going to introduce you to dragons like that.”

“How reassuring to know that your initial plan didn’t involve me burning into a pile of ash,” Hermann said dryly, but there was still tension behind his words. “So glad to hear that I was not _intended_ to be a part of that dragon’s menu today!”

“Dragons don’t actually eat humans…never mind, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter.” Newt sat next to Hermann and gently placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Relief flooded through him when Hermann allowed his touch. “Seriously, are you okay? Because we can leave if you want to. Hell, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stop the magical road trip right here.”

Hermann mulled the thought over for a moment before shaking his head. “I think I'll stay. After all, there's nowhere to go but up from here, is there? Though you’ll forgive me if I’m not keen to approach that creature again.”

“You don’t have to,” Newt reassured him. “In fact, I've been told that steering clear of dragons is actually a pretty normal life goal, dude.”

“‘Normal,’” Hermann said, somehow managing to sound equal parts scoffing and nostalgic. “I think we moved past ‘normal’ back in 2013.”

“Eh, you’re way behind the curve on that one. I was turning my Legos into salamanders by the time I was eight,” Newt said, pleased when Hermann laughed gently at the comment.

“And now here you are, wrangling dragons,” Hermann said. “Even after your regrettable encounter with a Kaiju, you still manage to greet another monster with a smile.” Hermann shook his head wistfully. “Really, sometimes I wonder if I shall ever understand you.”

“You’ve always understood me,” Newt said confidently. “In the ways that matter, anyway.” It seemed to Newt like a bit of an obvious statement. But he’d never been like some Jaeger pilots who left things unsaid in favor of letting the drift speak for them -- Newt was far too fond of speaking for himself to fall into that particular rut.

“And you know I feel the same,” Hermann said softly, pressing a hand to Newt’s cheek. He quickly dropped it, however, and added, “But don’t think I’ve yet forgiven you for today’s incident. Even if you were…admirably quick in coming to the rescue.”

“‘Admirably?’” Newt said, spotting Hermann’s familiar blush with a grin. “Is that code for ‘sexy’ now? Because if it is, I’m going to have to start looking at our earlier letters in a whole different light.”

“Watching you perform your magic is always interesting,” Hermann demurred, which meant that, yes, he’d _definitely_ found Newt’s spellwork back there ‘admirable.’

Newt leaned down to Hermann’s ear and whispered, “I’ll make this all up to you, okay? Maybe I’ll owe you a blow job.”

Hermann’s face reddened even further, but before he could answer, Zhang and Karl walked into the house. Their clothes were smoking slightly, but both men smiled happily upon seeing them Newt and Hermann.

“It’s truly wonderful to see you again, Newt,” Zhang said, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“You too, man,” Newt said. “But shouldn’t you be in China right now? Don’t tell me you came all the way to Germany just to see me?”

“Please, don’t answer him, his ego is preposterously large as it is,” Hermann said, standing up to formally shake both Zhang and Karl’s hands. “I'm Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, Newton's partner and a mathematician for the PPDC.”

“Mathematician? Oh, that’s like Muggle Arithmancy right? Cool,” Karl said, seeming not to notice the pained look in Hermann’s eyes at his words. “Karl Phan. The one who likes hugs is Zhang Ji.” He then directed his gaze towards Newt, one eyebrow artfully raised. “And _yes_ , Newt, he _did_ come all this way on the off chance you would remember to visit us on your tour. Don’t think you’re getting a hug from me, either –- what were you doing, trying to introduce your man to the teenagers first?”

“I said I was sorry,” Newt complained, but Hermann’s eyes grew wide.

“You mean to say that that dragon was not fully grown?” he said.

Two identical smiles lit up Zhang and Karl’s faces -– Newt knew that look all too well. They may not have ended up being professors, but in the end, Zhang and Karl were just as much teachers as Newt and Hermann were. Hell, they were the ones who’d taught _Newt_. To them, meeting someone who had yet to be indoctrinated into the art of Magizoology was nothing less than a treat.  

Karl eagerly began to explain Hungarian Horntail adolescence to Hermann while Zhang gently nudged Newt. “I think your tea is done,” the older man said. “Why don’t I show you where the cups are?”

Newt raised an eyebrow, but followed Zhang into the kitchen. “I know it’s been awhile,” Newt said, “but I think I can figure out where Karl puts the cups.”

“I know,” Zhang said. “I just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”

Newt groaned. “Is this the talk? Are you about to give me the talk?”

Zhang rolled his eyes in a display that rivaled even Hermann’s looks of exasperation. “Do I look like your father, Newt? I’m not even _touching_ that can of worms, thank you.”

Newt suddenly found himself with an armful of Magizoologist as Zhang embraced him for the second time that day. “I’m relieved that you are okay,” Zhang said, his voice quiet as he tried to keep their conversation private from the two people in the room just next to them.

“Of course,” Newt said, letting out an exhale as he relaxed into the hug. It hadn’t been long since he’d seen Zhang last, but so much had happened between then and now that it felt like ages ago. “You didn’t think I’d actually not come back, right?” he said. “You know I couldn’t leave my dragons like that.”

“I _hoped_ that you would come back,” Zhang said, his voice small; though when he pulled away from Newt, he seemed just as amused and relaxed as he always did. “But you know what happens to young witches and wizards who throw themselves headfirst into situations with dangerous creatures,” he said.

Newt laughed and finished the old adage, just as he’d done when they'd last spoken: “We either die or we become Magizoologists.”

“Or rockstars,” Zhang said with a smile. “I know for a fact that every dragon sanctuary on the continent –- and probably more besides –- are looking to snatch you up.”

Newt couldn’t keep a wide grin off his face at that. “Oh yeah? What about you and Karl?”

“Karl has managed to delude himself into thinking he has a chance,” Zhang said. “Me? Nah. You aren’t quite like us, Newt -– you love the dragons as dearly as anyone I’ve ever met, but I think you came to the conclusion long ago that a dragon sanctuary is too static an environment for you. You want more than that.”

Newt wondered what it said about him that a _dragon_ sanctuary wasn’t a dynamic enough work environment for him. “Too bad I don’t know _what_ I want,” Newt sighed.

“You have time to decide.”

“That’s what Hermann said,” Newt muttered.

“Then it sounds like you got together with a smart man,” Zhang said, beginning to gather the mugs out of the cupboards. He waved his wand at the kettle so that the hot water poured itself into the cups. “How long has he known about you?”

“Since we closed the Breach. I’m _supposed_ to be using this trip to show him my magic -– but you’ve seen how well that’s going. Fuck, I nearly got him killed by a dragon!” Newt shook his head. “You’d think I’d be better at balancing the wizarding world and the Muggle world by now.”

“Most wizards do not even try, Newt. And maybe now that Herman knows, he can help you _find_ that balance,” Zhang said. He patted Newt’s shoulder before levitating the full mugs of tea. “You’ll figure it out; you always do. Though don’t tell Hermann I said that -– I think he’ll be cross with me if he finds I’ve inflated your ego yet again.”

Newt laughed and they carried the tea into the next room, where Karl was speaking in animated German while Hermann listened raptly. Looking up at them, Karl grinned and said, “Took you two long enough!” He grabbed his mug of tea out of the air and took a sip before continuing: “Newt, I very much like your man. Did you know that he knows how to use a _dishwasher_?”

Hermann stood and sidled up to Newt, snatching a mug as he did so. “What, exactly, is so extraordinary about using a dishwasher?” he murmured in Newt’s ear.

“Most wizards don’t know how to use one. Or have never even _seen_ one,” Newt whispered back. “I hope he didn’t ask you too many questions; Karl doesn’t meet that many Muggles.”

Hermann shrugged. “I can own up to possessing the same intellectual curiosity about wizards –- I can hardly fault him for it.”

Karl walked over to Newt and handed him some tea, but his eyes were fixed on Hermann. “So,” he said, “what do you say, Dr. Gottlieb: do you want to see a dragon? It would just be a baby one –- none of those moody adolescents. Or has our dear Newton scared you off the creatures entirely?”

Hermann looked pleasured at the use of the honorific. After a moment of thought he nodded, much to Newt’s surprise. “If all it took was a near-death experience to put me off studying mythological creatures, I hardly would have stuck with the PPDC, now would I?” he said.

And so, only a few minutes later, Newt and Hermann stood in the corral while Zhang and Karl distracted the baby dragons with bits of meat. Newt struggled to convince the baby in his own arms to just _stay still damn it_. Even stroking the softer underside of its neck only prompted the dragon to bite at Newt’s gloved fingers. Newt huffed –- when had he gotten so out-of-practice at this?

“This is Neils,” he said, finally managing to soothe the creature into keeping the biting and squirming to a minimum. “Neils, this is Hermann. Hermann, come over here and pet Neils before he decides that he’s done playing along with me.”

Hermann looked at Neils with a fair amount of reluctance, and Newt could tell that he was definitely wondering whether he’d made the right decision to agree to this. Newt could understand the hesitation. He remembered what it was like, looking into a dragon’s surprisingly intelligent, ink black eyes for the first time and wondering how the hell you’d gotten there –- and Newt was the one who actually _liked_ this stuff. Hermann was just trying to do him a favor, and a big one at that.

“Hermann,” Newt said, “you know, I really don’t mind if you want to back out of-”

Before he could finish the sentence, Hermann’s eyes became steely with determination, and with a quick breath, the other man had hastily placed a hand on the dragon’s snout.

Neils looked Hermann hard in the eye, but Hermann stared right back. Newt had to give it to Hermann –- the man was adaptable. Give him inter-dimensional passageways, giant sea creatures, or, hell, even dragons, and Hermann would only need a moment to take in the new data before assembling it as part of his worldview. Newt’s heart sang in his chest and his magic thrummed beneath his skin as he fell for Hermann just that much more.

Neils eventually looked away from Hermann, more content to nibble at Newt’s fingers than continue the staring contest. Hermann relaxed slightly, and even managed a smile at the dragon’s rumbling purr. “It feels so warm!” he said, astonished.

“Oh yeah, you wouldn’t believe what dragons have got going on inside them. The temperatures they run at? It’s phenomenal -– not technically _possible_ even! -– and it’s all because of their heat sacs! I could go on for hours about their heat sacs. You wouldn’t believe how many wizards just explain this kind of stuff by saying it’s magic, but biologically? Dragons are easily the most fascinating creatures on this planet.” Newt said this all in a rush, intoxicated with the sudden possibility of gushing to Hermann about his favorite beasts.

Hermann rubbed his fingers cautiously over Neils’ horns, his face bright with curiosity as he listened to Newt’s rapturous babbling. “I would think that you would prefer the Kaiju to dragons,” he commented.

“I can’t just choose!” Newt complained. “They’re way too different! I mean, the Kaiju are definitely more of a puzzle, but the dragons aren’t trying to kill me, so they’ve got that going for them.” He leaned down to kiss the top of Neils’ head, laughing when the creature hissed sparks at him in displeasure and flew away in a huff. “Well, most of the time,” he amended.

He and Hermann watched as Neils beat his small, bright wings against a clear sky that was rapidly darkening as afternoon slipped into evening. The breeze that played at the grass beneath their feet was crisp and cool, a far cry from the dense, warm air that circulated Hong Kong.

Neils cried out joyfully and this, _this_ was what Newt had been so desperate to show Hermann: the million pin pricks of stars that rushed to fill the sky as the minutes passed, the sounds of beating wings and crickets that filled the sanctuary to the brim, the sight of a dragon scales gleaming in the moonlight. This was the world that he wanted to share.

Even after Zhang and Karl went inside to finish their work, Hermann and Newt continued to sit under the stars. Hermann listened as Newt hastily constructed a summarized history of the English wizarding world from what he could remember from his History of Magic classes. Given that he’d taken those classes twenty years ago, it was not in the _least_ a perfect summary. Hermann seemed to sense this, as his participation in the conversation became more and more indulgent as the hours passed. He didn’t bother to correct Newt, however, and Newt understood why. At that moment in time, it hardly mattered whether what Newt was saying was entirely accurate: it was a story, it was told beneath a sky bursting with stars, and it was something to talk about as they leaned against each other. That was enough.

 

Hermann’s approach to understanding the world came from a part of him that was so thoroughly Ravenclaw that Newt could not help but be both frustrated and fascinated by it in equal measure. Hermann was the sort to immerse himself in data, to make sure that he had as much information as possible at his disposal to peruse and examine before formulating it into systems of logic and pattern. And so while Hermann remained fascinated by the more show-y pieces of magic Newt elected to show him, once Newt had brought up the notion of wizarding history at the dragon sanctuary, there’d been no hope: Hermann demanded to know more, to know more about the people and cultures and histories that he’d been kept separate from all his life.

And so as soon as they got a free moment in New York, Newt dragged Hermann onto a subway car that escaped the notice of the Muggles on the platform, hoping that this next excursion could sate Hermann’s thirst for knowledge.

“Where are we going?” Hermann said, eyeing the witches and wizards around them with barely concealed intrigue.

Newt tried not to laugh at the way Hermann gaped at a man playing solitaire with a pack of cards that floated in midair. “You’ve been bitching about my piss poor knowledge of wizarding history for the past two days,” Newt said. “So I’m going to shut you up by taking you to a museum. You wanted wizard history, Herms? Well you’re _getting_ wizard history.”

“An _accurate_ history of your world; how novel,” Hermann said with a playful nudge.

“I haven’t taken a history class in twenty years, Hermann! Would you let it go?” Newt groaned. “How much do _you_ remember from twenty years ago?”

Probably a lot, if Newt was being honest -– he wasn’t sure Hermann ever forgot _anything_ –- but the subway car thankfully shuddered to a stop before Hermann could respond to the comment.

As they stepped out into the underground museum, Newt had to give himself a pat on the back for thinking up this stop. At Hermann’s sharp exhale, Newt became fully and smugly aware that the architecture fanboy in Hermann was nearly crying with happiness right now.

Even Newt himself, who only had a casual affinity for architecture, couldn’t help but admire the building. Its great ceilings arced perhaps a half a mile overhead, their glittering murals towering above Newt's head; the marble floors swirled with specks of gold and silver and bronze; the intricate carvings of mythical creatures and famous wizards that lined the walls were nearly startling in their realism.

It was, to Newt’s knowledge, one of the oldest and one of the _only_ wizarding museums in existence. Wizards were far less likely than Muggles to commemorate their history into plaques and exhibits, if only because they instead carried it with them every day in the words of their spells and the wood of their wands. It was a crying shame really, and yet another area where Newt valued the wisdom of Muggles above wizards: keep track of your shit, dude, because that stuff was bound to get interesting after a couple of centuries.

Hermann frowned at the bundle of signs floating above their heads. They were labeled with arrows pointing to exhibits like “The Newt Scamander Exhibit of Magical Flora and Fauna” and “Wizarding Hats of the 18th Century.”

“Perhaps you should lead the way,” Hermann said with a raise of an eyebrow. “I hardly know what would be the proper place to begin.”

“Neither do I,” Newt said with a grin, before choosing a random direction to explore. Hermann had been utterly entranced by the History of Owling exhibit, but for the most part, wandering around the first floor of the museum led to little historical knowledge being absorbed by either party. Instead, Hermann was too busy insisting that the museum was large enough that it should be interfering with the path of several subway lines, and Newt was too busy explaining that in the wizarding world, that sort of thing didn’t matter too much.

“It’s _magic_ , dude,” Newt said.

Hermann let out a growl of frustration. “You’ve spent your entire life studying the intersection between biology and magic, but you couldn’t be bothered to do the same regarding the physical laws of the universe -– the same ones that you break every time you’re too lazy to fetch a snack?”

“Apparating to the kitchen is perfectly reasonable! I don’t remember you complaining when you were too tired to get breakfast.”

“You are utterly preposterous-”

“Excuse me,” a third voice said.

Newt whipped around, expecting to find a security guard or someone else trying to tell them to keep it down -– it wouldn’t have been the first time -– but instead he found himself looking down at a small witch. She was swimming in her bottle green robes and the witch’s hat she wore was at least a size too big, but she wore the ensemble with pride.

“Are you Dr. Newt Geiszler?” she said all in a rush.

Newt raised an eyebrow at Hermann before turning back to the girl and nodding. “That’s me! Call me Newt; only my mother calls me doctor.” He fought back a smirk at the exasperated sigh Hermann let out.

The little girl nodded slowly, and Newt was pretty sure she didn’t know exactly what a doctor was. Nonetheless, she boldly stuck out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Lily Johnson. I read all about you in the paper. My dad always told me that they don’t need any more Magizoologists and that I should be a Healer instead, but now he can’t say that because a Magizoologist saved the world,” she said smugly.

Newt rolled his eyes -– like he hadn’t heard _that_ one from a career counselor before -– and said, “Do people _seriously_ still push the Healer track on anyone smart enough not to pick their nose with their wand?” Smiling at Lily’s responding giggle, Newt said, “Don’t listen to them. Magizoology will _never_ go out of style, dude.”

Lily nodded gravely. A woman at the other end of the room called her name and Lily quickly said, “I’m going to live in the woods and study unicorns someday.”

“Do it,” Newt said. “God knows we could use a unicorn specialist who isn’t just talking out their ass about the magical properties of their hair.”

Lily positively beamed at him before returning to her guardian. Newt could hear her babbling excitedly to the woman about whom she’d just been talking to. He soon felt the weight of the woman’s astonished stare as she realized that, yes, he _was_ that one Magizoologist who’d helped save the world.

“A celebrity, are you?” Hermann teased.

Newt supposed that he was now. His sudden status as a celebrity in the Muggle world had not surprised him in the least -– in a way, he felt it was his due after so long studying the Kaiju -– but he’d been unaware that his fame had also leaked into the wizarding world. His accomplishments had always been met with more acclaim in the scientific sphere than in the magical one, so the realization was startling, to say the least.

Newt only met Hermann’s teasing with a swift poke to the ribs though. “Says the guy who’s be swarmed for autographs by _how many_ teenagers since we’ve gotten here? Shit, don’t tell me I missed out on being president of the Hermann Gottlieb fan club?”

Hermann rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid that as my partner, you’re rather stuck with that position regardless. Besides, their fascination with me hardly a mysterious affair: the papers continue to circulate a version of my story that is, for whatever reason, appealing to younger crowds. I’m only thankful that young Ms. Mori is their universally agreed-upon favorite -– I infinitely prefer her being in the limelight rather than myself.”

“How is it that _Lily_ is more of a rockstar than you, dude?”

“Because she _wants_ to be. I, for one, am far more content to busy myself with my studies.” After a moment, Hermann added quietly, “And with my peculiar wizard.” He ran a hand through Newt’s hair before giving him a forceful, lingering kiss.

Newt could feel himself blushing from the public nature of the display, but he was far too happy returning the kiss to care. He’d always expected Hermann to be pretty uptight when it came to showing affection in public, but as long as Newt wasn’t implying anything about ‘riding broomsticks,’ Hermann was more than happy to hold his hand or straighten his tie. Or make out with him in the middle of a museum.

“I think I still owe you that blow job,” Newt murmured, once they’d finally managed to pull away from each other. Hermann nodded, a bit dazed, and beckoned for Newt apparate them home.

And thank God for magic, because only seconds later they were sitting on the hotel bed as Newt tore Hermann’s pants off of him with a wild grin. "Not so grumpy about me defying the laws of physics now, are you?" he said, before wrapping his mouth around Hermann’s cock.

Hermann gasped at the sudden sensation. “I’ll admit that, _ah,_ that at the moment I am quite appreciative of it. _Oh,_ yes, do that again.”

Newt hummed around Hermann’s cock and ran his tongue along the head again. He let his jaw go slack as he attempted to gracefully swallow Hermann to the shaft. He was mostly successful, but for the drool that slipped out of his mouth and onto Hermann; but Newt had never claimed to be glamorous when it came to oral sex anyway. He didn’t think either of them cared that much -– Hermann was far too busy gasping under the press of Newt’s lips and Newt was far too euphoric about the fact that Hermann Gottlieb’s cock was in his mouth in the first place.

“Does this make up for almost getting you set on fire?” Newt tried to say, but the sentence came out muffled around Hermann’s dick. The vibrations of his words caused Hermann to tighten his grip against Newt’s shoulder.

“Dear God, even putting my cock in your mouth can’t keep you quiet,” Hermann panted, his eyes wide and dark as he watched Newt work his mouth along the shaft. “Just keep _going_ , Newton, and you can show me all the dragons you bloody well please.”

Well that certainly provided some incentive. Newt let the head of Hermann's dick press against his cheek as he eagerly sucked him. He moaned when precum met his tongue, and couldn’t help but press a palm against his own erection at the slick slide of Hermann’s cock against his mouth.

Newt was nothing if not efficient, and within minutes he had Hermann sweaty and gasping as he came into Newt’s mouth. Newt held Hermann's cock in his mouth until the other man was done, but as soon as he could he spat his mouthful onto the floor, ignoring Hermann’s growl of disgust.

“Cleaning spells exist,” Newt reminded him breathlessly. He pressed his forehead against Hermann’s. “And, not to pressure you or anything,” he murmured, “but hand jobs are also a thing that exists.”

Hermann rolled his eyes, but pressed a wet kiss against Newt’s lips and wrapped a hand around Newt’s painfully hard cock. Newt’s eyes slipped shut as Hermann swiped a thumb across the head before swiftly pumping the shaft, moving his hand just the way Newt liked it -– Christ, they’d been together less than a month and Hermann already knew him as thoroughly as he knew the code of the Mark-1s.

“Merlin’s beard,” Newt gasped as Hermann gave a particularly hard stroke. He whined when Hermann’s hand suddenly stilled, and opened his eyes to see why the other man had stopped.

Hermann’s face was completely frozen, his eyes comically wide. At first Newt was worried that something was wrong, but after a moment he recognized the sight for what it was: Hermann attempting to reign in his laughter.

“‘Merlin’s beard?’” Hermann repeated, unable to stop one corner of his mouth from curling up into a smile.

Newt groaned. “Are we seriously doing this? Do you really want me to explain swearing in the wizarding world while you're giving me a hand job? Fine, I’ll give you another example then: you’re a pixie’s asshole, Hermann.” He tried to sound indignant, but it was ruined by his own, traitorous giggling. He was soon joined by the sound of Hermann’s own laughter.

“Wizard swears,” Hermann marveled, touching him once again. “You know, I don’t think you will ever cease to amaze me, Newton.”

Newt knew that Hermann was _absolutely_ not done teasing him about this incident, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he had the sweet, rough heat of Hermann’s hand around him, pumping him until soft pressure filled every crevice of his body and he came into Hermann’s hand.

“Merlin’s beard,” Newt breathed again. Ignoring Hermann’s huff of amusement, he dragged them both down so that they were lying on the bed, sleepy and satisfied.

“I should owe you blow jobs more often,” Newt mumbled into Hermann’s skin, watching as his dragon tattoo flew once again onto Hermann’s chest. Embarrassingly enough, it only explored Hermann’s torso for a few seconds before deciding to settle across the other man’s heart. Newt sighed. He supposed that he’d never been a subtle guy -– he could hardly expect his tattoos to be either.

Hermann touched the bright red ink, watching with fondness as the creature spread out its wings against his skin. “I can’t say I would object to that,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the dragon in order to press a firm kiss against Newt’s lips.

 

“Why on earth are we driving?” Hermann grumbled, his long fingers impatiently tapping against the steering wheel as he waited for a green light. “If you can apparate to the kitchen or apparate us back to our hotel to have sex, surely you can use that same skill to save me an hour of driving after a long day of press conferences.”

Newt had been sticking his head out the window in order to catch the warm breeze, but he poked his head back in the car long enough to say, “It’s LA, Hermann -– everyone drives here!”

“‘Everyone’ here is not a wizard,” Hermann pointed out.

Newt shrugged. “I haven’t been here in almost ten years, Herms. Sue me if I can’t exactly picture the place well enough to apparate there.”

“If you can’t apparate us, you could at least do me the favor of getting your license,” Hermann muttered.

Newt rolled his eyes. He was a _wizard_. As if wizards needed driver’s license. Well, maybe in this _particular_ instance one could have come in handy. Maybe he could learn to drive sometime after all this was over -– the mental image of Hermann trying to teach him was certainly amusing enough.

“I’ll apparate us back,” he promised Hermann. “And I can charm the car back too.”

They pulled into the driveway of a small, blue house that was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the overgrown yard which surrounded it.

“You’d better,” Hermann said, nonetheless accepting the kiss Newt gave him before they both got out of the car. “Now, come on: let’s fetch this dratted owl you can’t stop raving about and go _home_. We fly to Sydney tomorrow and I, for one, would like to get us packed _before_ the morning of.”

“‘Packing,’” Newt muttered as they walked up to the front door. Ringing the bell resulted in a host of screeches being let out from inside the house, followed by some muffled shouting and the sound of shoes smacking against the floor. A moment later, the door opened, and a wide grin and a messy head of black hair greeted them.

“Newt!” Sandy exclaimed. “Newt’s significant other!”

Newt had to hold back a giggle at the look on Hermann’s face -– it seemed to be torn between appearing scandalized or delighted that his title had turned from ‘doctor’ to ‘Newt’s significant other.’

“I literally Flooed her right before I joined you at breakfast, dude,” Newt explained to Hermann. “I only had time to tell her that me and my boyfriend were going to swing 'round later to grab Etta." Turning back to Sandy, he said, “Sandy, this is Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, my lab and romantic partner. Hermann, this is Sandy, the person who’s been looking after Etta for me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hermann said politely as he shook Sandy’s hand.

Sandy eyed him curiously. “You’re his lab partner? Are you a Muggle then?”

“Yes. And you are a…witch.”

The following silence had the potential to be very awkward, but Sandy thankfully disrupted it to give Hermann two thumbs up and say, “Thanks for saving the world, man. Come on in; I’ll make you guys some coffee or something.”

Portraits of birds covered the inside of Sandy’s home, and from the entryway Newt could pick out the sharp scent of paint coming from one of the other rooms. Perches had been drilled onto the walls leading to the kitchen, and from them watched what must have been over a dozen owls of all breeds: the usual barn and snowy owls were there, but even a great horned owl rested on one of the perches. It eyed them both disdainfully before retreating to a perch closer to the ceiling.

“Have you opened a menagerie since I left?” Newt asked as they entered the kitchen. He couldn’t help but be a bit impressed by the number of creatures, and even Hermann was having trouble taking his eyes off of the few birds peering at them from atop the cupboards.

Sandy tapped the coffee maker with her wand. “Nah, but isn’t it neat? I just loved painting Etta so much that I had to get another. And then they sort of…multiplied from there.” Sandy gave an embarrassed grin. “I’ve become the owl lady my mom always warned me about.”

“I can certainly think of worse things to be,” Hermann said, smiling softly as a long-eared owl flew to land on Sandy’s shoulder.

Truth be told, Newt had wondered whether Hermann would warm up to the idea of having any pet more gregarious than a fish, but the other man was absolutely smitten with the creatures already. The ink on Newt’s arms mutely roared in satisfaction.

“So where is she?” Newt said, peeking into the next room to see if Etta waited for him there. “Not that I don’t want to drink coffee or catch up, but it’s been ten years since I saw her last, you know?”

Sandy glanced at the floor before busying herself with pouring the finished coffee into some cups. “Um,” she said, “Newt, I didn’t get a chance to say much about it on the Floo, but Etta-”

Just then an owl’s screech sounded from upstairs and before Newt could react, a tawny-colored owl had flown into the kitchen and perched on his head. “Etta!” Newt shrieked, wincing as the owl in question pulled at his hair in retaliation for the sudden noise.

After a moment of cajoling her, Etta acquiesced to sitting on his arm, though she gave a regretful hoot when Newt proceeded to rub his face against her head. Newt could admit that he was probably more of a dog person than an owl person, given how much he loved cuddling the creatures, but Etta allowed the touch.

“You’re so good,” he cooed. “You’re such a good owl. And you’ve _grown_ , holy shit!”

While Etta was still one of the smaller owls living in the house, she was indeed a far cry from the pipsqueak Newt had known her as. She preened halfheartedly under the praise and Newt frowned. Studying Etta closer, he found that her feathers no longer shone with their usual vibrancy; instead they dully hung from her body, and were far thinner than they should be. Though her eyes gleamed with happiness at Newt’s presence, their blinks were nonetheless slow and weary under Newt’s observation.

“Is she okay?” he asked quietly.

Sandy bit her lip. “She’s an old girl, Newt –- as wily as ever and she doesn’t take nonsense from anyone, but…she’s sick.” Sandy reached out to pet Etta, smiling sadly as the owl relaxed under her attentions. “I would have told you sooner, but I had no clue where the PPDC had shipped you off to after you left LA.”

“She’s almost twenty years old, isn’t she?," Hermann said. "That’s remarkably old for an owl of her size, even in captivity.” He lifted a cautious hand and lightly touched Etta’s wings. She cooed softly in return, her eyes sleepy and content with all the affection she was receiving.

Newt laughed, though the sound of it was a bit hysterical even to his ears. “Been watching owl documentaries for me, huh, Hermann?"

“Certainly not,” Hermann sniffed. Yeah, as if Newt totally wasn’t above snooping through his Netflix queue.

“She still recognizes you, Newt,” Sandy said brightly. “Even after all this time. I know she’s sick, but we could figure out a way for you to take her home, man. Hell, I owe you that much for making sure that I can still live on this planet.”

Clearing his throat did not rid Newt of the tightness that rested there. “Nah,” he said, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. “It wouldn’t be fair to her.” Even the thought of forcing her onto a plane while she was like this made Newt sick. And even if they managed to transport her, what then? Newt remembered all too well the disorienting feeling of being ripped from one place after years of adjusting and then being thrown into a new one -– it’d been his life the past ten years. He couldn’t ask that of Etta, not when she was old and sick.

“It’s probably better this way anyway,” Newt said, not sure who he was trying to convince. He set Etta down on the counter, looking away when she hooted in discontent. “I mean, I only knew her for a few years –- you’ve known her for almost ten, so it doesn’t really make sense for me to take her now.”

“Newton...” Hermann said, placing a hand on his arm. Newt shook off the touch.

“I think I’m going to step outside for a minute, if that’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to see what kind of set-up you’ve got out there for the owls.” The excuse was flimsy, but he didn’t bother trying to explain himself further, instead choosing to escape the room that was quickly becoming a bit claustrophobic. Newt made his way onto Sandy’s back porch, letting himself sag against the house once he got there.

Sandy had planted small trees since he’d been there last, and there were feeders spread all around the yard for her birds -– but despite his words, he wasn’t particularly interested in her renovations. The news of Etta had placed a weight upon him, so that he could hardly seem to move. Newt sighed and stared at the blue sky above him -- he imagined a different one hundreds of miles away, filled with the beating wings of dragons. He wished he could go back to its comforting familiarity right now.

If Newt was being honest, the only thing currently stopping him from apparating to the nearest sanctuary was Hermann: the thought of him driving alone when Newt had already promised to get them home together. Having the ability to vanish when he was feeling upset or overwhelmed used to be a great comfort to Newt, but it just didn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

Only a few minutes went by before Newt heard footsteps. A hand appeared on his shoulder, but Newt’s magic didn’t buzz beneath his skin at the contact, didn’t rush through him like blood through veins -– it wasn’t Hermann’s.

“Hey,” Sandy said, patting Newt on the shoulder before letting her hand slip to her side. She slouched against the wall of the house and looked him over. “You okay, Newt? You’ve got Hermann a bit concerned.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Newt mumbled. He scratched at his arms -– he’d charmed his tattoos into stillness for his and Hermann’s lecture today, but he could still feel them itching to squirm across his skin. “Fuck, I’m a bad boyfriend, aren’t I?”

“For being sad about your pet being sick? Yeah, you’re the worst,” Sandy said, rolling her eyes.

“Did I ask for sarcasm? I don’t remember asking for sarcasm. Seriously though -- you know _he’s_ the one who suggested this magical road trip deal we’re trying to do? He actually wanted me to show him this stuff, even the dragons! I don’t know many _wizards_ who would be willing to pet a dragon for their significant other, let alone Muggles. And so far I’ve repaid him by buying him Chocolate Frogs and then nearly getting him set on fire,” Newt said glumly. “And now he has to deal with me freaking out about my owl. It’s not fair to him.”

“What’s ‘fair’ to him is that you’re trying to share this world with him in the first place. I think Hermann would agree.” Sandy sighed. “Look, Newt, I don’t really know how romance works –- it’s not really my area. But isn’t the point of even _being_ with someone that you don’t count the favors you do for each other?”

“You're too rational,” Newt complained. "And probably right too, shit."

“I’ve been living with fuckton of owls for the past ten years -- you’d hope some of that wisdom would have rubbed off on me,” Sandy said with a smirk.

Newt laughed. “Maybe I should give that a try. You think Hermann would mind if I bought a couple dozen owls?”

“He fell in love with Etta just about instantly, so I'd say your chances are alright,” Sandy said.

“Man, Hermann used to _hate_ Etta though -– this was back before he knew about me, obviously. And he didn’t even know that I had an owl either, he just knew that _something_ was leaving droppings on his side of the lab.” Newt shook his head fondly, recalling the arguments that had ensued over the mess. “You know that right after I gave you Etta, Hermann bought me a fish to make me feel better? It’s just this little goldfish, but it’s almost ten years old now; Hermann has _no_ idea how he’s still alive."

“I'd always assumed you’d been replacing the damn creature without my knowledge,” Hermann said from behind them, his tone wry. “Perhaps I should have deduced by now that it was due to a magical influence.”

Newt glanced behind him to see Hermann walking towards them, a small owl carefully perched on his shoulder. Hermann was moving slowly so as not to jostle the creature, and every other step he shot an anxious glance at it, as if to make sure it was still okay. Warmth filled Newt’s stomach at the sight –- despite Hermann’s nervousness, he wore the owl on his shoulder naturally, as if he were the wizard and not Newt.

“Wizards’ pets tend to stay alive for a long time,” Newt explained. “Who’s this little guy?” He pulled a bag of treats out of his pocket. He’d originally brought them for Etta, but he held one out enticingly to the young owl, who eyed it curiously before taking a small bite. The creature screeched in glee, snatching the rest of the treat in its beak and hopping from Hermann’s shoulder to Newt’s.

Sandy grinned sheepishly. “Ah, that’s another thing I forgot to tell you about, Newt. Your girl Etta was a bit more popular than I anticipated her to be; she laid eggs, like, maybe a _year_ after I bought my second owl.”

“She takes after her daddy,” Newt cooed. At Hermann’s disbelieving snort, he added, “Okay, so not the egg part. Or the getting laid part.” Newt’s eyes widened as he finally processed Sandy words and realized exactly who he was holding. “Wait a minute. This is…this is…” His voice squeaked. “I’m a grandpa?”

“Great-grandpa actually,” Sandy said with a smirk. “That’s one of Etta’s grand-babies.”

“As you stated before,” Hermann said, "we cannot, in good conscience, take Etta away from her home here. When Sandy explained Etta’s unexpected lineage to me, it became clear that if we could not take her, we could at least adopt one of her progeny.”

“If we’re being honest, I have too many owls anyway,” Sandy said. “You’d be doing me a favor by taking one of the little ones off my hands.”

“I get to keep it?” Newt whispered, unable to look away from the owl resting on his shoulder. It preened its feathers, utterly delighted with all the attention it was receiving.

Hermann nodded. “Sandy let me choose the one that I thought would be best suited to you and I chose…well, her.” He gestured to the owl. “I chose Ima.”

“Ima?” Newt breathed, stroking the owl’s head with the tip of his finger. “Is that your name, girl?”

Ima hooted softly before nipping the tips of his fingers. Newt smiled -– he could see what had drawn Hermann to this particular specimen. Ima was certainly as gregarious as her grandmother, and had definitely retained a bit of Etta’s cheekiness. Moreover, she was the spitting image of Etta, but for the fact that her feathers were more of a dark, speckled brown than tawny-colored. “She’s beautiful,” Newt sniffed, wiping his eyes.

A screech echoed from within the house and only a moment later, Etta flew out onto the porch. She rested briefly on Newt’s head, pecked at his hair, and cooed at her descendent. The two owls took to the sky, Ima respectfully trailing behind Etta as she made slow, lazy arcs around the yard.

Sandy sighed dreamily as she watched the owls soar. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Surprisingly enough, it was Hermann who answered her: “They are.”

Newt looked over to find that Hermann’s gaze was fixed skyward. The other man’s eyes followed the owls’ graceful flight and a small, content smile formed on his face. Newt’s heart soared at the sight; he linked his hand in Hermann’s and they watched the owls circle the yard, hooting happily to one another as the sun shone on their wings.

  
The last stop of their media tour took them to Sydney. Newt suspected that it’d been placed as their last stop for Herc’s sake -– despite the inconvenience of traveling from LA to Australia, the man didn’t deserve to go anywhere but home after his son’s memorial. All throughout the ceremony, Newt had simply wanted to lift his wand and let it mourn for him, but instead he’d put his wand hand in Hermann’s grasp, letting the other man ground him with his touch.

After the memorial, they’d all filtered into the hotel bar, tired and ready to return to Hong Kong. Newt cradled his drink in his hands, waiting for Hermann to return from the bathroom. Mako and Raleigh had gone to the bar to fetch them more drinks, and Newt found himself smiling absently at a story Tendo was telling.

Newt must have let something slip in his expression -– he’d never been good at hiding what he was feeling –- for mid-sentence, Tendo patted his shoulder and said, “You okay, my man?”

Newt yawned –- a week’s worth of nonstop traveling had left him with just about nothing in the tank. “Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to zone out. Tired,” he said. He waved his hand vaguely. “I’m…kind of okay, I guess. Australia is weird for me and Hermann.”

“Ah,” Tendo said. He’d known them both back when Spinejackel had hit Melbourne, when Hermann had gotten his injury -– he didn’t need Newt to say anything more. Newt was thankful for that; it was difficult enough navigating his and Hermann’s own residual anxieties when it came to Sydney without having to explain them to someone else.

“Haven’t seen you and Hermann much this tour,” Tendo teased, graciously changing the subject. “You two treating this as your honeymoon then?”

Newt laughed. “Let’s just say I’ve had a _lot_ of things to show him this week,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. His response was even true, though perhaps not in the way that Tendo perceived it to be.

The man in question made a gagging face, holding up a hand to stop Newt from saying anything more. “Spare me the details. I’m happy for you two, but I don’t need a play-by-play.” He took a sip of his beer. “You guys know where you’re going to end up after our We Saved the World tour?”

Newt shrugged. “I have _zero_ clue. Actually, it’s not even that I have zero clue; it’s more like I have _too_ much clue.”

Tendo paused. “Why don’t I take that beer away from you and you try explaining that to me again,” he finally said, plucking the drink from Newt’s grasp.

Newt didn’t mourn its absence too much. He was more in the mood for Butterbeer right now than actual beer. “There are _too_ many things I want to do,” he clarified. “It’s like the universe is trying to make me choose between two completely different things.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the universe making you choose things," Tendo said.

“I don’t,” Newt said wryly. “That’s the worst part of it.”

Tendo laughed. “Well, if it helps, I know exactly how you feel, brother.”

Newt was just tipsy enough to nearly have a sudden, excruciating heart attack as he wondered whether Tendo had found out the truth about him. He quickly came to his senses, but his voice still came out in a squeak when he asked, “You do?”

“I’m a Chinese-Peruvian American, Newt,” Tendo said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think I know a thing or two about what you two German expats are going through. It’s tricky finding roots when you don’t belong to one place.”

“Yeah,” Newt said, a bit relieved. He often had tunnel vision when it came to his own problems, his own theories, his own equations; he’d forgotten that he wasn’t the only person trying to choose a path right now, that even Hermann had multiple allegiances to account for when considering the future. Newt liked to think that his situation was slightly different, as the magical world and the Muggle world were just that: two completely different _worlds_ that were kept separate by custom and secrecy. But nonetheless, it was comforting to know that, in this particular instance, Newt was not that unusual, was not peculiar or strange in his thought processes.

As if hearing his thoughts, Tendo smiled and said, “It ain’t easy being multiple things.”

Newt snorted –- Tendo didn’t know the half of it. “It really isn't. How are you supposed to choose?” he sighed. 

Tendo mulled the question over for a long moment before finally answering, “I don’t know if you _can_ choose. Or even if you’re supposed to. Either way, I never really got the hang of it.”

“Me neither,” Newt said. He saw Hermann walking back from the bathroom and waved eagerly. He could practically hear Hermann’s long-suffering sigh from across the room.

“Shall I take him off your hands, Mr. Choi?” Hermann said.

“He could probably use a nap,” Tendo agreed.

Newt let out a huff, but couldn’t bring himself to protest -– he was practically dead on his feet at this point anyway. He let Hermann hoist him out of his chair and walk him back to the elevator.

“What were you two talking about?” Hermann asked, pressing the button to go up to their floor.

“The future,” Newt said sleepily, leaning his head against Hermann’s shoulder.

Hermann sighed again. “You know you still don’t have to decide anything now,” he murmured. “I haven’t decided what I want either.”

As soon as they entered their hotel room, Newt made for the bed, but was stopped by Hermann’s hand wrapping around his wrist. Moving slowly enough so that Newt could stop him if he wished, Hermann carefully removed Newt’s glasses and stuck them in his own pocket. He ran a soothing hand through Newt's hair. “I’m going to run a bath,” he said “It’s been a long trip and I’m afraid my hip could use the soak. Would you care to join me?”

Newt hummed in the affirmative, but before Hermann could move to start the water, Newt said, “Wait, hold up, dude. We've been too busy here for me to show you any magic, remember? I’m not going to let you leave here empty-handed; I have to show you _something_.”

And so while Hermann stood by, looking on curiously, Newt waved his wand and watched with sleepy satisfaction as the bathtub filled itself. The soap formed into a rich foam atop the water, with occasional, stray bubbles bursting out of the spray to form fractals or stars. One bubble, to Newt’s possibly eternal embarrassment, formed a heart which Hermann _definitely_ saw, given that it circled him obsessively before popping.

“Is all magic as…emotive as yours?” Hermann said, his voice unusually soft as a bubble that smelled of chalk dust instead of lavender popped against his cheek.

Newt could feel his face heating. “Um…probably not, if we’re being honest,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure how the chalk dust bubble had managed to form, but now that he was consciously thinking of it, the rest of the soap began to smell of the stuff as well. Newt scowled and hit his wand against his leg, trying to concentrate on the scent of lavender that he wanted the foam to have.

Hermann laughed. One of those true, wide smiles graced his lips as he stared at Newt, and that was enough for lavender to slip completely from Newt's mind and leave the entire bathroom smelling of chalk.

“I suppose,” Hermann said, pulling Newt’s t-shirt over his head, “that I shall just have to count myself lucky then.”

As they eased into the tub, Newt supposed that this would probably be a good time to proposition Hermann –- they’d yet to try anything in the tub, after all -- but it was all he could do just to keep himself upright in the hot, foamy water.

Hermann pulled Newt’s body against his own, lathering his hair with soap that smelled half of flowers and half of Hermann’s chalkboard. Newt couldn’t really bring himself to mind –- both smells soothed him, and Hermann’s touch was tender and gentle against his scalp.

“Alright, love?” Hermann said in his ear, and Newt nodded drowsily.

“Just thinking,” he said with a yawn.

“Is that right?” Hermann said indulgently. He eased Newt around in order to scrub his chest with some of the peculiar-smelling foam that surrounded them. “Newton, I know that we agreed to try not to think of the future on our ‘magical road trip,’ and I also know that said magical road trip is almost done. But what I said to you before I proposed that venture remains true now: you don’t have to know what you want right now. Whether you want to teach at a university or –- blast it all, whether you want to go live with the dragons, we’ll make it work.”

“I do need to figure it out at some point,” Newt pointed out. The problem was that Newt had been straddling the large gap that existed between the Muggle world and the wizarding world for as long as he could remember: he’d studied for his Charms exam at the same time as he’d crammed for the SAT; he’d taught at MIT while doing research at a dragon sanctuary; fuck, he’d built a Kaiju-drift interface that'd essentially amounted to being a hopeful mixture of science and magic. But Newt was tired of _having_ to straddle the gap between these worlds; he was tired of living two lives at once; he was tired of essentially ignoring one half of himself at any given moment in time.

“I’ve been living half my life as a wizard and the other half as a Muggle, Hermann,” Newt said finally. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing when his fingers got tangled in the wet clumps. “How am I supposed to choose?”

Hermann gently removed Newt’s fingers from his hair and began rinsing the strands himself. “Does it truly have to be one or the other?”

Newt wasn’t sure. According to Tendo, it didn’t have to be. But then again, Tendo wasn’t a wizard who’d been hiding out with Muggles for the past ten years. Newt shrugged. “It feels like it sometimes.”

Hermann hummed in thought as he finished washing Newt’s hair. “You once described yourself as a Slytherin to me. I still think that the concept of sorting children into Houses based on personality traits is an…arbitrary one, to say the least; and I maintain that you more closely resemble a…what did you call it? A Gryffindor?”

Newt groaned loudly, but Hermann only talked over him with a practiced ease: “But _regardless_ , you told me that Slytherins are meant to favor ambition and…control, I suppose you could call it; so forgive me if I find it difficult to believe that you will let either the magical or non-magical worlds attempt to pigeon-hole you.” Hermann pressed a kiss to Newt’s knuckles. “You’ll figure it out, Newton. Hell, I pity the poor soul who _tries_ to stop you from combining your two worlds, if that’s truly what you wish to do. It would be like trying to stop Ima from taking flight.”

Newt chuckled –- Ima had proven herself to be quite stubborn when she put her mind to it. Only this morning she’d been reveling in her placement atop of the television stand while Newt had been trying to coax her into her cage.

He frowned. Hermann’s words kept tumbling through his mind. They snagged on his thoughts as he tried to make the final connection he knew was waiting for him to find. His eyes widened as he at last caught the idea he’d been looking for; he sat up suddenly in the tub and the motion splashed water all over the bathroom tile.

Hermann sputtered at the mess. “Newton!” he scowled.

“Oh my God!” Newt cried. “Hermann, you’re a genius! I’ve figured it out!”

Figured out _two_ somethings, in fact. Newt tried to scramble out of the bathtub, only to slip and stumble over the side of it. Thankfully, after a month’s worth of practice, Newt’s magic was finally becoming reflexive for him again; instead of faceplanting, he apparated, wet and naked, into the bedroom. “I’ve figured it out!” he shouted again, over the low sound of Hermann’s chuckles drifting in from the bathroom.

 

The first idea was by far the easier one to implement, so Newt began by focusing his energies on that one. He enlisted Hermann’s help the moment the other man finished draining the tub, and Hermann eagerly agreed. In the days that followed, Hermann listened to draft after draft of Newt’s proposal before both of them deemed it ready to send off.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised Newt as much as it did, but he still felt shocked when Ima at first returned with only rejection letters. Newt wasn’t exactly a guy who was used to not getting his way –- perhaps one of the downsides of his Slytherin tendencies -– and he began to wonder if anyone would accept his proposal. Maybe some ideas were too radical even for his celebrity status to make appealing.

Ima seemed to sense his frustration, and she always gave Newt a nip on the ear as he read his letters -– partly in consolation, but also partly to reprimand him for sending her away so often. Hermann positively dotted on the owl during this time, feeding her countless treats while she rested from her journeys, and watching with a small smile as she flew around their room.

When Ima returned with another letter only a week before they were to be booted out of the Shatterdome, Newt was honestly expecting another rejection. The euphoria he’d felt upon first conceiving of his idea was once against forming into existential anxiety -- thus, he had to reread the letter twice before fully believing what it said.

“Hermann!” Newt shrieked, batting Ima away when she tugged on his collar in retaliation for the harsh noise. “Hermann, they’re interested! Boston’s Academy for Magical Youth is interested!”

“I should hope so, given that you’re currently Massachusetts' golden boy,” Hermann said, but he quickly joined Newt at his desk and read the letter over his shoulder.

_Dear Dr. Newton Geiszler,_

_We at Boston’s Academy for Magical Youth are quite interested in your proposed ‘Integrated Magical and Non-Magical Studies’ course. While we are, of course, a magical institution, you have shown in your own endeavors the clear benefits of creating an interdisciplinary environment for those interested in both magical and Muggle studies. As a pioneer in –- or shall we say the inventor of -- the field of integrated magical biology, we feel that you could be a valuable addition to our faculty. We have discussed your proposal with our Muggle Studies professor and expect to-_

“They’re giving me a fucking class!” Newt said, far too excited to wait for Hermann to finish reading the letter. “I mean, they’re only letting me have a summer course to start out with, but this is still groundbreaking! I’ll be the first person to have ever taught an integrated Muggle and magical studies class!”

“A rockstar to the end,” Hermann said, leaning down to wrap his arms around Newt. He pressed a kiss into his hair. “I’m quite proud of you, Newton. Though what shall you do with the rest of your year, if they’ll only let you teach a summer course for now?”

Newt shrugged. “Maybe I can talk MIT into giving me a lenient contract. Or hell, I could even start publishing about dragonology again. I can do whatever I want.” He leaned into Hermann’s arms with a happy sigh. After so long of waiting, after so long of being sure that his efforts were futile, Newt had found a place for himself after the PPDC –- and what’s more, he’d made that place himself. Well, kind of; he could admit that he'd had a lot of help along the way. It was enough to fill him to the brim with giddiness, as if someone had charmed his stomach full of light, airy bubbles.

“I believe that’s my cue to email MIT back then,” Hermann said, rubbing his hands absently across Newt’s chest.

Guilt punctured the warm giddiness in Newt's stomach; he frowned and looked up at Hermann. “Are you sure?” he said. “I know I’m kind of a selfish asshole sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you have to pick a university based on what I want. If you want to go teach in Berlin or London or Hong Kong or where-the-fuck-ever, I’ll go there with you. I can find work pretty much anywhere; there are dragon sanctuaries all over the place.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hermann muttered. “Newton, you and I have both been without permanent residence for the past ten years -- I hardly know _what_ constitutes ‘home’ anymore. And I doubt London or Berlin could live up to the title if I moved us there knowing you’d be unhappy. Massachusetts will do fine as long as we’re there together.”

Newt grinned. “I can’t believe no one else knows what a big sap you are.”

Hermann sighed through his nose, but he smiled. “When you tried to draw me a bath, the bubbles were shaped like _hearts_ , love. I’m afraid that if either one of us is sentimental, it’s likely to be you.”

“Eh, I’m okay with that,” Newt said with a shrug. He waved his wand and smirked when a ring of heart-shaped smoke followed Hermann around for the rest of the afternoon, much to Hermann’s dual amusement and exasperation.

Though Newt had managed to successfully implement his first great idea, with the chaos of their move to America, he hardly even had time to _think_ about the second one. And the second idea was one that demanded a lot more thought and planning than the first one had –- for this idea directly involved Hermann.

So it wasn’t until two months later, when Newt was attempting to unpack the last of their things –- with magic, and no, it wasn’t going well -– that he finally brought it up. And for all his careful planning, he didn’t even bring it up because he’d finally found the right way or the right moment to ask -– it was more so that Hermann had threatened Newt with his unbelievably dull Netflix queue and Newt would do anything to distract him. Hermann had the remote hovering dangerously close to a World War Two documentary, one that he’d been nagging Newt to watch ever since he’d leaned that Newt wasn’t exactly one _hundred_ percent sure who Winston Churchill was –- sue him, he could barely manage wizarding history, let alone Muggle history -– so Newt hastily shouted, “ _Or_ , how about we do something way more fun and completely different!” And he told Hermann what he’d been mulling over ever since their last night in Sydney.

Of course, Hermann vetoed it instantly, turned off the television, and retreated to his numbers in a huff. In retaliation, Newt charmed Hermann’s chalk to draw smiley faces -– and hearts because even when they were arguing, Newt, or at least Newt’s magic, really was head-over-heels -– and poke Hermann in the head. Hermann rolled his eyes and batted the chalk away, but Newt could tell he was more amused than irritated at the spell.

Even so, Newt deemed this one of the few instances where a cautious approach held some merit, so he resolved not to bring up the idea to Hermann again until the other man had had time to think about it some more. Or until he threatened Newt with another documentary –- whichever came first.

But as it turned out, Newt didn’t even have to wait to bring it up. A week later, he found Hermann sitting on their balcony, observing Ima’s graceful flight around the building. Ima herself was hooting happily as she deftly rode the air currents, though she began to fly a bit higher once she saw that she had an audience of two.

“Show off,” Newt said, rolling his eyes.

Hermann didn’t answer, not bothering to take his eyes off Ima. He watched her with as much rapture and fascination as he always did –- though perhaps he observed her movements more carefully than before, in light of Newt’s words last week. Finally, Hermann sighed and said, “What you proposed before…is such a thing truly possible?”

Newt nodded. “From now on, just assume that anything is possible," he advised. "There’s like, _maybe_ five or six things that aren’t possible, because apparently there are rules to even breaking the laws of physics…but yeah, basically everything else is just a matter of skill.”

“And you’ve done this before?” Hermann said, finally tearing his gaze away from Ima in order to look at Newt.

“Kind of? I’m really good at Transfiguration,” Newt added hastily, trying stop the frown that was forming on Hermann’s face, “but we never practiced on humans in school. Well, not in class anyway. My friend Dara turned me into a squirrel once as a joke.”

Hermann gave a sudden, rasping cough, nearly choking on his own shock and laughter. “They turned you into a _squirrel_?” he said, practically wheezing in mirth.

“Shut up!” Newt said, his face burning as he remembered that particular, humiliating moment.

“I’m sorry, love,” Hermann said. The apology was genuine, but there was still a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “It’s just so dreadfully _appropriate_.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one thinking about letting me turn you into a bird,” Newt said. And there it was, the awful, beautiful idea that had haunted him for months, and that Hermann had been trying to wrap his mind around for the past week.

“It is…” Hermann started, and then trailed off as if unsure of where he wanted the sentence to end up. Finally he said, ‘I’ll admit that I’m at least _curious_ as to your reasoning. Why this, of all things? Because I once wanted to be a pilot?”

Yeah, that was part of the reason. An ache of longing and rapture made its home in Hermann’s chest every time he glanced at a broomstick or watched Ima fly; it seemed to Newt to sound for miles, and he wished more than anything to soothe its call.

But in all honesty, Newt had proposed this partially out of his own selfishness. He wasn’t content with simply sharing his world with Hermann anymore: more than that, he wanted to snatch it from its moorings and give it to Hermann to have, give Hermann something that was more than just the slide of Newt’s ink across both their skins.

Newt suspected that Hermann would scoff at the insecurity of Newt’s latter reasoning though, so he only said: “Yeah! You’d be able to fly, dude -- you wouldn’t even _need_ a plane. It’d be even better than being a pilot.

Hermann nodded. “I think…I think I might like that,” he said. After that, he said no more, going back to watching Ima’s flight. Newt sat with him, a grin playing at his face as he realized that Hermann was tentatively agreeing to this, was tentatively trusting Newt with this idea.

In the end, they’d picked a field in the country to implement the idea, and Hermann had picked an owl as his bird of choice. Newt continued to suggest more outlandish birds, such as secretary birds or herons, but Hermann was adamant about the owl –- Newt suspected that he’d always been fond of the supposedly wise creatures, even before meeting Ima –- and even teased Newt by suggesting that his reluctance came from the fact that owls occasionally ate squirrels.

By the time Newt had finished cloaking the field in shielding spells, Hermann’s eyes had closed and his knuckles had turned white from the tight grip he had on his cane.

Newt carefully placed a hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I get it if this is too weird for you.”

Hermann shook his head, his arm trembling slightly under Newt’s touch. “I want to,” he said. “For most of my life, I’d thought that flight would never be a possibility for me. Well, now that it is, I can hardly pass up the opportunity.”

Hermann’s back straightened, his posture turned erect as he resolutely stared at Newt. It was moments like this that made Newt question Hermann’s Ravenclaw veneer, made him wonder whether the man’s Gryffindor bravery was enough to outshine even his intellect. And yeah, Newt technically wasn’t supposed to get along with Gryffindors, but fuck that –- he’d never understood House politics, and he’d admired Hermann’s courage since the beginning.

Newt placed a careful kiss upon Hermann’s lips before saying, “Just remember the plan. If you want to be changed back, hop on my arm; if for some reason you can’t do that, just shout three times and I’ll change you. I researched this pretty thoroughly and your leg shouldn’t interfere with flying, but drink this just in-” Hermann snatched the potion out of his hands and downed it in one go “-…case. Are you sure this is what you want, dude?”

Hermann closed his eyes. “Please just get it over with, Newton.”

Newt shrugged and took a few steps back. “Okay, I’ll do a good old fashioned countdown. 3…2…1,” he said, waving his wand at Hermann.

Hermann’s eyes were still shut as he disappeared beneath the folds of his clothing in a flash, leaving behind only a small, foot high mound underneath the sweater vest and slacks.

 _Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he saying anything?_ Newt thought for a terrifying moment before an indignant screech came from the clothing. Newt bolted towards the pile, tearing at the clothes until Hermann’s new form appeared.

Newt breathed a sigh of relief. “You okay?” he whispered.

Hermann glared at Newt –- and yeah, Newt probably should have remembered the whole ‘clothes’ thing -– but nodded. Hermann looked over himself curiously, examining his new-found wings closely before giving them a tentative flap. Newt was amused to find that Hermann’s legs were just as long and gangling in this form as they were on his human body. He was also relieved to find that, though Hermann’s eyes were now dark yellow and avian, the gaze that they fixed Newt with was still undeniably Hermann’s: bright and piercing and warm.

Newt took a moment to admire the brown coloration of Hermann’s feathers, the white dots that dusted his back and wings like flakes of snow -– or like stars. Newt would have to look up what type of owl Hermann was later, but for now he was content to smooth his hand down one of Hermann’s wings. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Hermann looked at the ground as if bashful. He opened his beak, presumably to reply to the comment, but all that came out of his mouth was a soft hoot. Hermann’s eyes spanned comically wide as he started himself with the sound, his wings flapping in shock. The sight was so utterly ridiculous that Newt couldn’t help but fall over laughing.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Your _face_.” He felt a weight on his chest as Hermann perched on top of him, looking affronted.

Hermann let out an indignant hoot that required no translation, and he nipped at Newt’s ear in an imitation of Ima’s way of expressing her irritation.

Newt winced. “Ouch. Beaks are sharp, dude, don’t forget that.”

Hermann had the decency to look guilty at this, and let out a hoot of apology before gently pulling at Newt’s collar.

Newt smiled, running his hand along Hermann’s soft wing before pulling himself to his feet. It was incredibly surreal to be the one looking down at Hermann for once, and he kneeled down so that he wasn’t towering over the other man.

“You ready to give this a shot then?” Newt said. His own heart was hammering in his chest; his tattoos were pacing so relentlessly that Newt could sense Trespasser inching its way onto his cheek. He could only imagine how Hermann was feeling right now, though the way that the man’s feathers trembled gave him a good indication.

Hermann’s gaze was just as steely and determined as ever though, and he nodded before stretching his wings experimentally. It took him a few tries before he figured out how to let his wings lift him into the air, and there was a horrifying moment when his flight seemed to falter: but Hermann’s flaps gradually became steadier and soon he was a fixed point in the sky.

“You’re doing it!” Newt screeched, running underneath Hermann, panting with the effort of keeping up with the man’s flight. “You’re flying! You’re actually flying!”

Hermann called to him with a rapturous hoot and dove down to fly closer to him. He tried to give Newt a friendly nip of the hair, and Newt laughed when he nearly fell out of the sky in the attempt.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Herms,” Newt said, and he could practically see the roll of Hermann’s eyes before the man flew high in the air again, soaring just beneath the clouds.

Out of breath, Newt lay on the ground and contented himself in simply watching Hermann. He couldn’t deny the other man’s grace in the air, how quickly he’d adjusted to the idea of navigating the world with wings instead of legs -- how natural and even graceful his flight appeared.

Newt wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Hermann glided down to Newt again. He settled himself onto Newt’s chest with a sleepy hoot and nosed at Newt’s cheek.

“You ready to go then?” Newt yawned, rousing himself when he received three hoots in the affirmative. With a lazy wave of his wand, Newt suddenly had a naked, fully-grown man on top of him instead of a small owl. Newt gave an “oof” at the sudden weight on his chest and Hermann’s cheeks burned red in embarrassment.

“You forgot the clothes again,” Hermann complained, but he only lay his head against Newt’s chest when Newt wrapped his arms around him. Newt figured that Hermann was probably exhausted from his flight and probably needed a minute’s rest before they went home.

After a moment, however, Newt realized that tears were springing to the other man’s eyes now that his body was once again in a form that could produce them. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently cradling Hermann’s face in his hands.

“I am. I am, I just…Newton, I _flew_.” The man’s voice was shaky from adrenaline and sheer giddiness. His happiness seemed to overflow from his body, and even though they’d not felt the effects of a drift hangover for months, Newt could have sworn that he could feel that happiness overflowing into _Newt_ , filling him up right alongside Hermann.

“You liked it then,” Newt said, unable to contain his grin.

Hermann’s laugh was light and his smile was radiant as he combed his hands through Newt’s hair in utter adoration. He nipped at Newt’s ear before placing a deep kiss on his lips. “Would it be clichéd for me to say that it was magical?” he said once he’d pulled away.

“Definitely,” Newt said breathlessly.

“Hmm. Nonetheless, I have to admit that it expresses the sentiment well. Thank you, Newton,” Hermann said, before pulling Newt in for another, longer kiss.

Newt wanted to say that he was the one who should be thanking Hermann, for all that he’d done over the past few months to explore Newt’s world with him -- but then he remembered that these things weren’t favors to be counted. They were just gifts. And so instead, Newt was satisfied in simply kissing his boyfriend in an empty field underneath a darkening sky, until they both decided that this was an activity that would be best continued in the comfort of their home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those curious, Newt turns Hermann into a [burrowing owl](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burrowing_owl) \-- the resemblance is truly uncanny.


End file.
